


Black Rocks Anonymous

by Glow_Decay, Pash_12



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angry Varian (Disney), Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Autistic Varian, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Black Rocks (Disney: Tangled), Cassandra Has Issues (Disney), Cheating, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Dissociation, Drama, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Has Issues, Family Drama, Feels, Flashbacks, Harassment, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, In Vino Veritas, Intrigue, Lesbian Cassandra (Disney: Tangled), Lesbian Character, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Mystery, Original Character(s), Pansexual Character, Past Child Abuse, Past Homelessness, Plotbunnies, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Warfare, Psychology, Romantic Angst, Sad Varian (Disney), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sex Work, Shameless Subplot Hoarding, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt, Support Group, Therapy, Threats of Violence, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Varian Angst (Disney), Varian Has Issues (Disney), Varian has Depression, Varian has PTSD, Werewolves, Whump, Whump! There it is!, You Have Been Warned, cassunzel, too many tags, variangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glow_Decay/pseuds/Glow_Decay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pash_12/pseuds/Pash_12
Summary: A relative newcomer to Corona starts a support group for citizens affected by supernatural black rock related trauma.Meanwhile, Cassandra and Varian grapple with their respective pasts, and a mysterious collective called Concerned Citizens of Corona seems determined to bring down the royal family and their allies.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	1. We Need to Talk About the Rocks

Heather found herself scribbling away again in her old water stained journal. Drawings of dark, jagged shapes jutting from the ground. She absentmindedly chewed on a strand of long, frizzy red hair that had snaked its way out of her ponytail.  
She could almost still hear the rumbling, the screams… see the flashes of blue and black exploding out of the earth around her.  
She remembered rushing around, dodging the sharp upward missiles, looking for her only friend in all of Corona.  
“Monty,” she whimpered under her breath…  
“Heather… Heather!” Uncle Monty’s voice cut through her fog. She started. “Heather, the buns!”  
The smell of burning bimberry reached her nose.  
“Sorry!” she yelped, rushing over to the oven. She opened it. Smoke poured into the room. Panicking, she grabbed the baking sheet. Ouch, big mistake! She cursed and grabbed a nearby oven mit to pick up the sheet.  
Coughing, she put the tray of pitifully blackened buns on the counter.  
“Attila’s going to be upset! Do you know how hard it was to get those bimberries? They’re out of season right now!” exclaimed Monty.  
Heather kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Monty’s anger dissipated. He frowned as he glanced at her hand.  
“Do you need a bandage for that?” said Monty, looking concerned.  
Heather looked at her hands. The fresh burn throbbed red on her hand, accompanied by few other sloppily applied bandages over burn blisters in various stages of healing.  
“Yes,” she replied sheepishly. “Again, I’m so sorry.”  
Monty waddled over to the counter. He pulled a small tin box of bandages from under the shop’s till. He brought the box to her. She opened it.  
“You know…” Monty knitted his brow. “I want to help you, I really do. But I don’t think this is working out.”  
“I-I know.” Heather said, applying the fresh bandage. “I’m not very good at this whole baking thing. Or taffy pulling. Or chocolate making. Or…” She repressed a tear. Visions of homelessness flashed in her mind. A cold, hard street. A growling stomach. Shapes moving in the dark.  
Not again. She’d promised herself NEVER again…  
“Look,” Monty sighed. “I’ll let you stay in the room above the shop still, for now. Just… maybe you should take a break from working in the shop for a while.”  
Heather forced a sad smile. She put her hand on the candy maker’s shoulder. “Thank you, Uncle Monty.”  
That night, Heather lay on her side in the small, narrow bed, staring wearily out the window. Rain pattered outside. She heard the Sweet Shop’s sign swinging in the wind. Squeak… squeak…  
She shut her bleary eyes and turned over. The bed creaked loudly.  
Sleep never came easily to Heather. Every sound pierced her mind, tangling with her own jumble of thoughts and memories. At least right now she had a bed, and a blanket. She pulled the fluffy comforter over her head. It still smelled like the old cedar chest in Monty’s guest room after all these months.  
…

She remembered sunny day she limped into Corona, just a few weeks before the black rocks drove everyone out of the kingdom, overstuffed parcel on her back, blisters on her feet from the too-tight shoes she swiped off a stranger’s porch three towns ago. She wiped her limp, matted hair away from her long neck. Ugh! Absolutely dripping with sweat! She practically had to ring it out.  
Heather dodged Coronans in carriages, horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestone streets. The footpath wasn’t much better. People kept bumping into her, some shooting her dirty looks.  
Suddenly, a waving man caught her eye. He was short and stout. He stood outside of a store labeled Monty’s Sweet Shop with Attila the Bun. He carried a tempting tray of cookies. He strode up to the young woman.  
“Here, take one!” he said, holding out the tray as he looked up at her.  
Looking at the food, Heather was reminded of the deep, gnawing emptiness in her stomach. She took two. She bit into them, greeted by the taste of vanilla and lemon cream pieces.  
“Name’s Monty! But you can call me Uncle Monty. Everyone around here does. Well… almost everyone.”  
“Hi! I’m Heather,” she said through a mouthful of cookie.  
“Why don’t you come inside?” said Monty. “It’s a hot one today!”  
Heather shifted the heavy bag on her shoulders. She winced as the strap grazed her sunburn. She just HAD to fall into that river a few days ago and hang her one set of clothes out to dry.  
Monty pulled her into the Sweet Shoppe. A bell tinkled cheerfully overhead. The inviting scent of melted chocolate and cooked sugar washed over them.  
A few townsfolk milled about inside, eyeing the rainbow of gumdrops, hard candy, and skillfully sculpted chocolate palaces. As Monty lead her to the counter, the customers wrinkled their noses and stepped away. Monty seemed unfazed.  
_Damn, I really smell that bad, huh?_ thought Heather.  
Monty reached into an ice chest next to the counter. He handed her a small glass container hand painted with grinning anthropomorphic flowers.  
She opened it and sipped, cool relief filling her mouth. Homemade lemonade with a hint of… mint? Lavender? She couldn’t quite place it. For the first time in weeks, she felt herself smile.  
“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” the candy maker said. “Is this your first time in Corona?”  
_Well, I was born here…_ “Yes.”  
“You staying, or just passing through?”  
“I don’t know yet.”  
“Do you have a place to stay?” He gave her a sympathetic look.  
An awkward pause. She felt the locals’ curious glances at her.  
“Uuuhh, sure.” Her subtle grimace gave her away. He raised an eyebrow.  
“Actually, no,” she admitted, her shoulders drooping in defeat.  
“I have a spare room above the shop. If you want, you can stay a while, get cleaned up, get some rest… I hate seeing folks out on the street, and the inn down the way…” He whistled. “They overcharge like crazy!”  
“Oh, I-I don’t want to intrude. I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be a leech or anything…”  
Monty gave her a warm, reassuring smile. “Do you have any experience baking?” he asked. “My business partner, Attila, and I could use some help around here.”  
Heather hesitated. “Sure,” she lied. _How hard can it be? I need to do SOMETHING while I’m here. Well, besides what I’m ACTUALLY here for…_  
The man beamed. “Excellent! Now how about you go upstairs and get yourself cleaned up?”  
…

Heather fluffed her pillow and turned over again, fixing her eyes on the rain outside again. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. That damn sign kept squeaking.  
_I hope this is enough to cancel the parade tomorrow…_  
The shop would be absolutely slammed! And maybe Monty would want her on cash register duty. Her head ached at the thought…  
It was always another weekend, another festival in Corona. Just days after the Cassandra’s black rocks ravaged the town, Coronans held a redo of the Goodwill Festival. And it just kept going. And GOING. Party after party since Zhan Tiri was defeated, since Rapunzel “healed” the town.  
Heather snorted bitterly. There are some things the sundrop can’t heal.  
She squeezed her eyes shut.  
_Happy happy happy! Just smile and pretend we didn’t just go through the scariest thing we ever faced as a kingdom! Just don’t talk about it, move on like nothing happened…_  
An image of her mother’s face floated in her mind from so many years ago. Her mother’s tight lipped smile as she tersely changed the subject after Heather dared to ask, “Where’s Daddy?”  
We just don’t talk about it…  
Her eyes flew open. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.  
That’s it! We need to talk about the rocks.  
…

Heather squinted at the jagged black rocks inked on the poster.  
Not great, but passable.  
“Black Rocks Anonymous” the poster’s calligraphy announced.  
Below that, it read:  
“Have you been affected by supernatural black rock related trauma? Let’s talk!  
Black Rocks Anonymous support group meeting Friday at 9 at Monty’s Sweet Shoppe  
Completely free! Refreshments will be provided.”  
Her hands ached. It took forever to write these and get them printed! She wiped a mixture of sweat and ink from her brow.  
_Is it worth it? Will anyone even show?_  
She clutched a dog-eared book to her chest. She’d bought it at the bookstore earlier that week. The first ever book she’d purchased with her own money, that she earned. A thick, expensive volume she saved up for weeks in advance. Matters of the Mind, by Professor Anita Lencioni.  
Sure, she’d “permanently borrowed” most of books she carried in her overstuffed sack during her travels, but that didn’t feel nearly as good as this! Hers. No running. No sneaking around. No…  
“Hi!” a cheerful voice said behind her.


	2. Anonymous

Heather spun around, nearly dropping her book. Her eyes widened. She immediately recognized the young woman standing behind her from murals and paintings of her adventures all around Corona.  
“P-princess! Your highness!” She performed a deep, clumsy bow.  
She came up to see the princess suppressing a small giggle. The princess beamed, radiating warmth.  
“Please, call me Rapunzel!” the princess chirped.  
“Th-thank you, Rapunzel,” stammered Heather.  
Rapunzel looked at the poster.  
“You should… probably specify PM.”  
Heather smacked her forehead. “Gah! You’re right. Oh! I’m Heather, by the way.”  
“Oh, I’ve heard about you! Folks say you work at Monty’s Sweet Shoppe.”  
“Sure do.” _Did she hear anything bad about me?_  
Rapunzel put her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “I think it’s great, what you’re doing. Starting this group.” Heather saw pure sincerity in her eyes. “I’ll help you get those posters fixed. Friday will be AMAZING.”  
Heather smiled nervously. “Thanks. I hope so, your majes… Rapunzel.”  
…

Heather’s heart pounded in her head. _So many people… I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in one room…_ She hugged her copy of “Matters of the Mind” to her chest.  
Heather sat in a chair, one of many set up around the room, near the counter in Monty’s Sweet Shoppe. Monty and Atilla sat on either side of her. She’d tried to arrange things in a semicircle, but as more and more Coronans crowded into the shop, a fleet of chairs extended all the way to the door. The crowd murmured and chatted to each other, munching on pastries and drinking tea.  
_I guess I should have expected this. A royal endorsement, Monty’s popularity… free donuts._  
The cuckoo clock on the wall struck 9.  
Here goes… Heather stood up and cleared her throat. “Welcome, everybody, to the first meeting of Black Rocks Anonymous!” Her loud voice surprised her. Was that… confidence?  
The people settled down. All eyes locked on her. “Let’s uhhhh…” She hesitated.  
Monty looked up at her. He nodded and gave her a reassuring smile.  
Heather flipped to a dog eared page of her book. “Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves by our first names, and umm… say why we’re here,” she paraphrased. She sat down.  
This is going to take a while…  
As people went around introducing themselves, Heather heard a smattering of stories.  
“The black rocks destroyed my home.”  
“I lost my legs when a black rock skewered them.”  
“I can’t get those images out of my mind… everyone running and screaming!”  
“I didn’t think we’d make it. I didn’t think I’d ever set foot in Corona again…”  
_Wow! We needed this._  
As Heather looked around the room, she spotted a familiar…royal face? Yes, it was her! Rapunzel sat in the group wearing a wig, glasses, and a frumpy orange dress. Nobody seemed to recognize her. She gave Heather a wink and raised a finger to her lips.

…

After the meeting, townsfolk milled around outside, chatting in the orange glow of the street lamps.  
Heather scooted her way through the crowd. Rapunzel, still in disguise, chatted with Atilla on the edge of the group while sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Heather tapped her on the shoulder.  
“Thank you,” said Heather. “For getting the word out.”  
“It was the least I could do,” said Rapunzel. “Like I said earlier, we need this!”  
“I never would have guessed so many people would show up! I know they wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for you, Atilla and Monty. It’s… not like I exactly get out there and endear myself to folks.”  
Atilla sniffled. “Th-thank you, too.” He gave Heather a huge bear hug.  
“Anyway, why did you show up in disguise, your highn- Rapunzel?”  
“Well, I thought it might be a little… distracting to have royalty here.” The princess adjusted her wig. “But at the same time, I wanted to be there for my people.”  
Rapunzel finished off her hot chocolate, leaving a milky mustache on her face.  
“So… something I was meaning to ask…why are you helping me?” asked Heather. “I mean, I know you’re busy what with being royalty and all.”  
“Because…” Rapunzel hesitated. “It’s what’s best for Corona!”  
Heather hugged the book to her chest. “Thanks.” _I feel like I actually live here now… like I’m not just passing through. I’m a Coronan!_

…

Rapunzel sketched in her journal, warm blanket of morning sun settled over her desk. Still in her nightgown, she jotted down sporadic notes about the meeting interwoven with portraits of people she met there.  
Heather was especially fun to draw! Long, gangly legs, long neck, dark eyes with long lashes and crinkles at the corners. Rapunzel thought she looked like a giraffe transformed into a redheaded 20-something. She drew Heather holding tightly to her giant book.  
Rapunzel closed the sketchbook and stretched.  
“What do I have going on today?” she asked Pascal, the chameleon basking in the sunlight next to her paintbrushes. “Oh, that’s right! Nothing.” She smiled. A rare day off! Normally she would have spent it with Eugene, but… her smile faded.  
She heard a knock at her door. “Come in!”  
Nigel entered the room, carrying a thick handful of letters.  
“I am sorry to bother you, your Highness, but I wanted to let you know we got more of them.”  
He placed the letters on her desk. Her heart sank. “Oh no…”  
All the envelopes were addressed to Varian or Rapunzel.  
“Is this batch all anonymous too?”  
Nigel sighed. “They are all signed, ‘A Concerned Citizen.’ Looking at all the different papers and handwriting, it looks like _several_ concerned citizens.”  
Rapunzel frowned. “Did you open any of them? What did they say?”  
“I opened a few, as you gave me permission to last time this happened.” He cleared his throat and picked up an opened one from the table. He took out the letter, “To the Princess: I am writing to express my utmost disgust with your decision to take the filthy traitor Varian on as royal engineer in the castle.” Nigel then took out another opened later, “To Varian, the filthy traitor: We will never forgive you for the atrocities you committed. You are subhuman slime unfit to live, much less hold a treasured position in the palace of Corona…”  
Nigel looked up, uncomfortable. “It gets worse, your Highness. Both of these do. Do you need me to read any further?”  
Rapunzel hung her head in her hands. “You don’t have to. I get the gist of it.”  
Pascal turned blue and nuzzled Rapunzel’s arm. She petted his head.  
“What would you like me to do, Princess?”  
Rapunzel stood up, handing the letters back to Nigel. “Save these. We need to get to the bottom of this! They may hold some clues. Lock them deep in the royal vault, and…”  
Rapunzel paused, her eyes tearing up.  
“Yes, your Highness?”  
“Whatever you do,” said Rapunzel. “Do NOT let Varian see these. Do NOT tell him about this. This… this isn’t his problem.” She sighed. “It’s mine.”  
Nigel nodded. “Understood, Princess.” He scooped up the letters and exited the room, closing the door behind him.”  
Rapunzel slumped back into her chair, tears trailing from her eyes. “What should I do, Pascal?”  
Pascal skittered up to her shoulder and snuggled against her face.  
“Awww, I love you too!” said Rapunzel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and hits, everyone! This is my first ever fanfic, and I very much appreciate the feedback.  
> This story will probably go on for quite a while. Tangled captured my imagination and is holding it hostage in an impenetrable cage of black rock!  
> Special thanks to my amazing sister who is helping me develop this story!


	3. Violet of Vardaros

Cassandra sat with her back to the wall, nursing a mug of mead. About a dozen customers milled about in the dim, smoky light of the tavern, which had the charming name of “The Axe Wound.” According to the map she had open on the table, she was somewhere on the outskirts of Vardaros. Of course, this map being a lovingly embellished gift from Rapunzel, Vardaros was encircled by gilded pictures of flowers and smiling residents.   
Cassandra looked around. This place looked like a shabby holdover from the Baron’s reign over the city. Yup… perfect place to keep everyone else at arm’s length. Or several arms’ lengths.  
The splintery wooden floor had dark, suspicious stains and uneven spots. The walls had barely enough chipping paint left on them to tell they’d once been a tawdry red.   
A bored looking barmaid slung drinks to the customers, mostly rough men with shifty eyes who spoke either in raucous, drunken shouts or conspiratorial whispers.   
It was exactly the kind of place she would NEVER take Rapunzel back when she was in charge of her safety. It made The Snuggly Duckling look posh!  
Cass smirked at the thought of her bubbly friend trying to lead this tattered group in a singalong. In her mind’s eye, Cass saw Raps dancing on a table exalting the power of dreams.  
Suddenly, the sound of a piano flourish burst through the murmuring rumble of the tavern.  
Everyone looked towards the slightly raised part of the floor that passed for a stage. A tired, middle aged man sat at the keys, but nobody was looking at him.  
All eyes locked on the voluptuous young woman draped dramatically across the piano. She wore a flashy purple and black outfit trimmed with cheap lace. Her brief skirt revealed curvy legs in sheer black stockings. A thick velvet choker with a single false jewel covered her throat.  
She flipped back her mane of dark, curly hair and batted her eyelashes at the audience.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the woman announced herself. “The musical stylings of Ms. Violet Von Voom!”  
She launched into a song so vulgar Cass would have instinctively clapped her hands over Kiera or Catalina’s ears had one of them been there. Violet’s voice sounded throaty, deep, and sensual. Untrained, but in tune.  
 _Well, I’m definitely not in Corona anymore,_ thought Cass.  
Violet slid off the piano and stood up, pulling a gauzy scarf from her cleavage. In heels, her height scraped the bottom of average.  
As she sang, she slunk her way around the tavern, teasing bar patrons with her scarf and letting them throw coins into her cleavage. Some gave her little pouches of money.  
She stopped near Cassandra. Violet’s head cocked to the side in curiosity. She shot Cass a flirtatious smile. Their eyes locked together, uncomfortably intimate. Cass felt her face grow hot. She quickly looked down and pretended to be reading her map.  
The song finished to a smattering of applause and whoops. Violet bowed, breasts threatening to escape her low cut top. A coin fell out of her bodice. She scooped it up.  
The woman turned around and gave a pouch of coins to the pianist. “Lovely as usual, Gerald!”  
“Don’t mention it,” Gerald responded. “No really, don’t mention it. My wife doesn’t know I go here!”  
Afterwards, Violet sauntered around the room, chatting up different men. Cass only caught bits of what she was saying.  
“Hey, handsome! Buy me a drink?”  
“Sorry, Vi, I’m tapped out tonight.”  
“You seem lonely, hon. Want to buy me a drink?”   
“You know I can’t, Violet…”  
After making the rounds, Vi invited herself to Cass’s corner.   
“God, it’s dead in here tonight!” the singer sighed as she sat down across from her. She kicked off her heels as she settled back into her chair. Violet glanced at her chest. “Oof, my duckies are definitely gonna bruise! You know, the Seven Kingdoms should really switch over to paper currency.”  
“That was some song!” said Cass. “Must be a real hit at kids’ birthday parties.”  
Violet giggled. “It is with their dads! Wrote it myself.”  
“So like I was saying, you’re cute!” Violet continued, perking up as she grinned at Cass. “Sassy too, I see.” She pulled a hidden flask from her garter. She took a long, deep swig from its dented metal and then offered it to the traveler. “Want some?” A sweet, pungent smell burned Cass’s nose and made her eyes water.  
“No thanks. I’ll take my chances with the mead.”  
“Suit yourself,” Violet said. “The drinks here are piss-weak. I like something a little more assertive, you know?”  
“So why were you asking everyone to buy you drinks?” asked Cass.  
Violet gave Cass a look like she’d just asked if unicorns had horns.   
“Uuuuh, business, of course” she stated. She pondered Cass for a moment, taking another sip from the flask. “You’re definitely not local. I can tell. You do look familiar though…”   
Cass remembered her old Wanted posters. They’d been a pretty decent likeness. They even got her nose right.  
Violet continued. “Your accent sounds like you’re from Coro-“  
“So where are you from?” Cass shifted the subject.  
“Different places. Mostly here these days.”   
Violet gave Cass a coy smirk.   
Cass felt a stockinged foot teasing her leg. “I didn’t catch your name,” cooed Violet.  
Cass’s heart pounded in her ears as her cheeks flushed.  
“Hmmmm, could it be…” Violet suddenly smacked the map on the table. “CASSANDRA?!” Cassandra gasped.  
Violet pointed at the flowery, gilded letters saying, “To: Cass, From: Raps.” Cass cursed under her breath.  
Vi let out a snorting, barking laugh. “I KNEW I recognized you! You’re THE Cassandra, aren’t you? The one that almost took over Corona?”  
“What of it?” Cass admitted. She folded up the map and shoved it back in her bag. When she looked back at Violet, she didn’t see what she expected. No fear, no disgust, just a cocked eyebrow and a curious grin.  
“So tell me, Cassie, does Corona let ALL traitors go wandering around the Seven Kingdoms without serving a day in jail? Or just ones that are pleasuring the princess?”  
Cass almost choked on her mead. “Wait, what?” she sputtered in between coughs. “Also, It’s Cass, not Cassie.”  
“All I’m saying is some people thought you and the Princess were very, VERY close… You were her not so loyal ‘handmaiden.’” Violet added a flourish of air quotes to that last word.  
“Not like that! Damn, we’re practically sisters.” Well, there was that one time. _We never could get the grass stains out of that dress…_  
Violet shrugged. “No offense meant, Cassie… Cass. Just repeating what I’ve heard.”  
There was an awkward pause. Cass looked down at her mead, frantically willing herself to stop blushing. It didn’t work. She looked up to Violet’s intense, bemused stare. She reminded her of a wild animal gazing down at her from a tree. Cass couldn’t decide if she was creeped out or turned on.  
“You know, I don’t blame you for what you did. Take over Corona and all that,” said Violet. “I’m not a big fan of Corona myself.”  
“Well, it was a bit more complicated than that…” _A LOT more complicated than that!_  
Violet leaned forward as she took another swig from her flask. “Well, I’m all ears, if you want to talk. People will tell things to strangers all the time they wouldn’t dare tell anyone else…”  
Her fingers brushed Cass’s arm. “Do you want to get out of here? And go talk?” she whispered in Cass’s ear, her breath carrying the sweet, heavy scent of whatever concoction she’d been drinking. “I’ve got a room in a place down the street.”  
 _“Talk”… sure…_ She smirked. Probably not, but then again… Cass found herself staring at Violet’s cleavage. She cleared her throat and looked away. “And how do I know you’re not going to rob me blind?” she asked.  
Violet gave a genuinely offended huff and reeled back. Something red flashed in her deep blue eyes. “I’m not like that!” she growled. “I’m honest. I don’t do that shit.”  
“Okay, then. Understood,” Cass replied.  
Violet smiled again. As quickly as the anger had appeared, it vanished. She sipped from the flask again, and pointed at Cass’s chest.  
“I really like your…” Violet raised an eyebrow. “…Necklace.”  
“Uuuuh, thanks,” answered Cass, blinking in surprise at the emotional whiplash. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing the Cassandrium necklace Varian made for her.  
“What’s it made of?”  
“A good friend of mine made it for me. It’s called Cassandrium.” Cass smiled a little at the memory.  
“SO pretty!” Violet squeaked. “I LOVE purple!” She gulped down still more of the mystery alcohol in her flask.  
“That stuff’s pretty strong,” said Cass.  
“Yup,” replied Violet.  
“You can really put it away!” Cass said. It came out way less sarcastic than intended, and way more impressed.  
Violet’s body rippled with laughter. The coins in her bodice jingled. Cass again tried her damndest not to look at her breasts. It’s been a while since… Nope! _Don’t even think about it._

…

Too late, she was thinking about it! About that night months ago…  
Cassandra and Rapunzel lay beside each other on the soft, cool grass in a field near the castle. A cool breeze carried the scent of flowers and refreshments from the nearby Goodwill Festival. The Coronans were partying even harder than usual, later into the night than ever before! That’s what a collective near-death experience will do to a place. Raucous laughter and drunken songs provided a comforting, floating ambience as the two women gazed up at a canopy of stars. An empty bottle of bimberry wine, shared between the two of them, lay nearby.  
They laughed and chatted together. What about, Cass couldn’t remember. Most of those late hours were a blur of looking from Raps to the sky and back again.  
Cass couldn’t take her eyes off Rapunzel and her flushed, freckled cheeks. Was it the wine?  
Almost every moment of the festival, Cass gazed at Rapunzel. Her contagious smile when she won a giant stuffed chameleon in a game. Her pink lips as she sipped on wine. Her soft, smooth hand as she dragged a reluctant Cass from one activity to the next…  
 _It’s the wine. It’s the wine…_ Cass repeated in her head.  
“Oooh, fireworks!” Raps chirped. She pointed towards the castle. Cass looked up. Colors burst into the night sky.   
“Varian must be setting them off!” said Cass. She spotted his signature Flynnolium green amongst the pinks and blues.  
“Hope that’s on purpose, and Lance didn’t get ahold of Varian’s chemicals. Again!” Rapunzel giggled.  
Cass made some explosion sound effects in time with the fireworks. Not that funny, but Rapunzel laughed hard, snorting as she writhed around on the grass. Cass couldn’t help but laugh along.  
“Oh, Cass!” Rapunzel gasped in between chortles. The two rolled over to face each other. Rapunzel’s eyes sparkled with the reflections of fireworks. “Cass…” A blanket of silence fell over the pair.  
“Yes, Raps?”  
“I missed you so much.”  
Cass grabbed Rapunzel’s hand. Tears misted her vision. “I missed you too, Raps. I… I love you.”  
A tear trailed from Rapunzel’s eye. “I love you too.”  
Their faces inched closer to each other. Looking back, neither could be sure who made the first move.  
Their lips met as another swath of color shimmered across the stars. Cassandra closed her eyes and melted into Rapunzel’s sweet, velvety kiss.  
Cass wrapped her arms around Raps, wordlessly pulling her into a tight embrace. Raps followed suit. Cass could barely breathe. She felt fingernails on her back.  
Years of pent up tension poured out of them as they rolled together on the grass in a ball of grabbing, yearning limbs and hot breath. Cass felt quick, clumsy fingers undoing her bodice. Cass reached a hand up Rapunzel’s skirt…  
“Blondie! Blondie!” Eugene called from the distance, footsteps trudging closer. (Though Rapunzel wasn’t blond anymore, the nickname stuck.)  
Sudden panic gripped the two women as they pried themselves apart, shifting clothes back into place.  
 _DAMN IT, FITZHERBERT!_

…

“Cass?” said Violet. “Did you hear me?”  
“Hm?” Cass answered, jarred out of her thoughts.  
“I said, do you want to get out of here?”  
Cass paused. “Sure.” She left a few coins on the table as she gathered her things.  
The two walked through a cloud of tobacco smoke, out of the tavern and into the cool night air.


	4. A Perfect Day

Varian smiled behind his metal face shield as he welded two pieces of his machine together.  
In the glow of the metal, in that laser focus on a single, solvable problem, all troubles melted away. The past and future didn’t exist. Just the present moment. Here, in the palace basement, installing one of his famous hot water systems. Suddenly, his bare finger touched hot metal.  
“Ow! What?”  
The alchemist sighed and sat back on his work bench. His well-worn gloves finally had holes in them. _Now where did I put my spares?_  
His father, Quirin approached with two glass beakers of hot chocolate. “Are you all right, Varian?”  
Varian blew on his finger. He already spotted a small blister. “Eh, I’m fine. These gloves are a total loss though.” Varian took a beaker, careful not to touch his injury.  
Quirin sat down beside him. He patted his son on the back. “Son, have I told you I’m proud of you yet today?”  
Varian chuckled. “Yeah, about a dozen times!”  
The clinked their glass beakers together and drank in the sweet warmth.  
“Cheers!”  
Varian grinned. Dad, science, hot coco? _A perfect day! Except…_  
Why wasn’t the heater working?  
“Dad, could you hand me that other beaker over there? The blue one?” He handed it to him.  
Varian leaned forward. He meticulously funneled a tiny drop of the effervescent liquid into the machine’s tank.  
The heater sputtered. The glowing chemicals within it flickered. Still no heat.  
“Huh, that’s strange…” Varian said.  
“What is it?” asked Quirin.  
“This chemical reaction should be working, but…”  
He took off his metal mask and sat back on the wooden workbench, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. How… how was this machine not working? He’d installed a few like it at this point, at various spots in Corona. Was it something about the alchemical makeup of the palace’s stone, perhaps? Did he measure something wrong?  
Varian squinted. He performed calculations in his head, making and discarding various mental notes.  
Suddenly, he brightened. _Got it!_  
“Hey, Dad? I’ll be right back.”  
Varian leapt up from his seat.  
“All right,” said Quirin. “I’ll hold down the fort.”  
…

Varian made his way through a less secure, less boobytrapped area of the royal vault. Worn wooden doors lined the stone hallway.  
Varian held aloft his makeshift torch, a staff with glowing orbs of chemicals hanging off of it.  
_It was somewhere in here… Third door on the left?_ His mind’s eye walked through the map in his head. It had been about a year, but… _There it is!_  
He stopped at a rotting old door with a rusted out lock.  
Varian creaked open the door. The musty smell of dust and mold wafted over him. He coughed.  
Which shelf? He thought back to his time with the Saporian coup of Corona. To the crystals he’d forced its citizens to mine. Maybe this time they could be used for good. To give back to the place he’d taken so much from. He searched the splintering old shelves.  
Brushing some miscellaneous knick-knacks aside, Varian shuddered. The grittiness of the dust coating the shelves scratched his fingers in a feeling that went straight to his spine. _Already regretting leaving my gloves behind..._ And then there were the crystals… just one crate left…  
Varian reached for them. He felt his hand brush against paper. He pulled out the wooden crate, struggling under its weight. A flurry of envelopes fluttered down like snow.  
“Great!” he muttered. He set the box down and began scooping them up. That’s when the large black lettering on one caught his eye. _To Varian…_  
“What…?” he wondered out loud. Standing up, he held a handful of letters. They looked recent, not like the other, long since neglected items in this room. He flipped through them. _Varian… Varian… Rapunzel… Varian…  
Why haven’t I seen these? _  
One of the envelopes addressed to him already had its blood red wax seal broken. He removed the folded paper inside. As he read it, his breath caught in his throat. A cold, sinking dread settled into his stomach.  
_Filthy traitor… subhuman slime… never forgive you… unfit to live…_  
Varian began to pace the floor. His pulse quickened. He tore open another.  
_You should have been executed… you’re a monster… everyone in Corona despises you…_  
“No no no no no…” Varian muttered.  
_NEVER FORGIVE YOU NEVER FORGIVE YOU NEVER FORGIVE YOU_  
The words screamed over and over again in his head. _Why didn’t anyone tell me?_  
He shoved a handful of crystals into his pocket and stormed out of the vaults, up to the upper floors of the palace, still grasping tightly to the letters.  
...

Varian burst through Rapunzel’s door, where he saw her sitting at her desk, painting in her journal. Startled, she dropped her brush.  
“Varian, what’s wrong?” asked Rapunzel, alarmed. She scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair.  
_“THIS!”_ said Varian. He threw the crumpled letters onto her desk.  
Rapunzel’s heart sank. “Varian, I-I can explain!”  
“Is this how people really feel about me?!” Tears welled in Varian’s eyes. “I…I thought it was all over! I _hoped_ it was all over! That Corona forgave me…”  
Rapunzel placed a sympathetic hand on his shaking shoulder. He brushed it off.  
“Varian, of all the subjects who have come to see me or my parents these past months, not ONE has complained about you. Quite the opposite! They PRAISE you! They’re loving the hot running water-”  
“Don’t lie to me, _Princess!”_ snapped Varian. “Clearly people don’t like me as much as you said they did.”  
“Varian, I…” Rapunzel stared at the boy in shock. She hadn’t seen him this angry since…  
Varian’s face crumpled. His gaze dropped to the floor.  
“I’m sorry,” Varian sighed. He hung his head. “I should have known something like this would happen. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. This is all my fault.”  
“Varian…” Rapunzel reached out a hand to comfort him. He stepped back. “It’s going to be okay. We’re still figuring this out, trying to find out where this harassment is coming from. I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry.”  
Varian’s ragged breaths struggled to hold back sobs.  
“We’re going to get through this. I promise,” Rapunzel whispered. “There are so, so many people who love you, Varian…”  
Suddenly, a loud explosion rattled the castle walls. A cup full of paintbrushes and grey paint water clattered off Rapunzel’s desk and onto the floor.  
“Dad!” cried Varian. The pair ran down the hallway so fast their feet barely touched the floor!  
Varian practically panted, out of breath from running everywhere. They leapt down the basement steps two at a time. Varian tripped, almost tumbling down the steep, sharp stairs. Rapunzel helped him up.  
A burnt chemical smell assaulted their noses. The basement was singed, the lab’s table toppled in the blast, many of the glass beakers and test tubes shattered on the floor.  
Against one wall lay an unconscious Quirin. Varian ran over to him and shook him. A cut on his father’s forehead bled profusely, staining Varian’s apron.  
“Dad! DAD!” he shouted. Quirin groaned. Varian hugged him tightly.  
Rapunzel hurried back up the stairs. “Get a medic!” she shouted to a nearby servant. “Quirin’s hurt!”  
Within minutes, two medics rushed into the scene. “Back away, please!” one told Varian. They began treating his father.  
Varian walked backwards into the far wall and collapsed to the cold, stone floor. His knees buckled and jolted in pain. His eyes widened. Amber rocks began to enfold his father.  
“Varian! Varian!” Rapunzel kneeled in front of him. She shook his shoulders. His ears rang. His heart pounded. Her voice sounded a million miles away… All he heard was the rocks… crunching. Twisting. His father screaming. He felt the searing pain in his hands from hitting against the hard amber again and again.  
“The amber…” said Varian.  
“What amber?” Rapunzel looked back at the medics tending to Quirin. “Varian, there’s no amber over there!”  
The palace medics lifted the man’s limp form onto a stretcher and began to climb the stairs.  
“It’s happening again…” Varian whimpered. He felt the words leave his mouth. Some inner force plunged him deep into his own mind, where he couldn’t come up for air. Every ragged gasp burned in his chest. _Am I dying?_ “Dad… Dad, I’m sorry.”  
Varian’s nails clawed at his arms, his hands, his head… _NO NO NO NOT AGAIN WHY WASN’T I MORE CAREFUL THIS IS ALL MY FAULT! Am I screaming? Is that me screaming? Am I screaming right now?_  
“You’re hurting yourself!” cried Rapunzel. She grabbed his arms and held firm to them. She pulled him into a protective bear hug. Before he could stop them, his limbs broke free and shoved her away. Hard! She cried out and stumbled back in surprise.  
_DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME I’M SORRY DON’T TOUCH ME!_  
Varian curled into a rocking, shivering mess. He hugged his legs to his chest.  
“I-I’m sorry, Rapunzel, I…” he stuttered. Tears streamed down his face, stinging a scratch he’d made in his panic.  
“Oh, Varian…” said Rapunzel, cautiously approaching him, eyebrows pinched in concern. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry.”  
Rapunzel took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped a splotch of blood off of his face. He flinched.  
…

Quirin lay in bed in a hushed medical wing, conscious but sore.  
Rapunzel and Varian sat in tense silence on small chairs next to his bed.  
Eugene entered the room in his Captain of the Guard uniform. Rapunzel greeted him with a chaste, cursory side hug. Quirin nodded towards him. Varian didn’t even look up.  
Eugene spied a scratch on Varian’s face. _Must be from that explosion._ “I’m sorry this happened, Hairstripe,” he said, sympathetic. The boy grunted.  
The palace’s lead doctor, a stout middle aged woman, approached. She flipped through some notes.  
“You’re going to recover, Quirin” she said. “But I want to keep you here overnight, just in case.”  
“Thank you, Doctor,” Quirin replied. The woman nodded and walked off to rummage through a cabinet of remedies.  
Rapunzel spotted angry red crescents on Varian’s hands. She winced. A disquieting mix of guilt and empathy churned in her stomach. A maid gathered Varian’s bloodstained apron from a chair across the room.  
Varian stared somewhere in the middle distance, a blank expression on his face. He picked at the now broken blister on his finger.  
“Did you hear that, son?” asked Quirin.  
“Yeah,” the alchemist answered in a monotone voice.  
“I’ll be fine,” said Quirin, frowning in concern. “You need to go home and rest.”  
“Yes, Dad. I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m relieved. Really, I am. I’m just… tired.”  
An excruciating silence followed.  
“Hey, Hairstripe?” Eugene said. “You know we all care about you, right?”  
“Mm hm,” Varian grunted.  
“And if you ever need anything, if you ever need to talk, we’re here for you.”  
“Yeah. I know.” The words seemed like they weren’t his. They came from somewhere hollow and distant.  
“I’m fine.” Varian said good night to his father. Then, he felt himself stand up and leave.  
Rapunzel and Eugene got up to converse on the side of the room, away from listening ears. Varian caught snippets of their hushed side conversation. “Something’s not right… Sabotage… We need to investigate…”  
He felt like one of his automatons. The music box played. The gears turned. His heavy legs moved. But nobody sat in the driver’s seat. He shuffled down the dimly lit hallway, stumbling over his own feet multiple times. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care.  
He walked through the still open basement door into blackness.  
He put his hand in his pocket and felt the cold, jagged crystals clink together. The crystals he once used to make Quirinian…  
He shut the door behind him. With a slow, deliberate motion, he bolted it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, so this one was a doozy to write! I have no personal experience with PTSD, but know people who have it and did some research as well. I hope I have done the topic justice.  
> One thing I'd like to note is that this is only one of many ways flashbacks can look and feel. Not every PTSD sufferer is going to experience them this exact way, and one person can have many different types of flashbacks.  
> One Youtuber I found exceptionally helpful in my research was Post Traumatic Victory. She has PTSD and makes very informative videos on the subject!  
> If you have this or any other mental illness, I want to say to you that you deserve love and healing. <3  
> EDIT 2/25/2021  
> Well, spoke too soon! Recently I learned that delayed onset PTSD is a thing, and I probably have it.  
> Life truly is a conga line of misery! 🙃


	5. The Morning After

Cass crept down the hallway the morning after the Goodwill Festival. It lay empty and quiet, in spite of it being almost noon. It felt as if all of Corona were sleeping off their collective hangover. The occasional breeze wafted in from the closed-off rooms where gaping holes still marred the walls. She heard Eugene snoring from behind the door to his temporary, not blown to smithereens room. Cass had to admit trashing his original room was the highlight of her brief reign over the kingdom…  
Head pounding, mouth dry and sour, Cass dragged her way to the kitchen. Her stomach gurgled uncomfortably. _Something with ginger… ANYTHING with ginger… would be great right now._  
As soon as she entered the kitchen, she smelled that someone else had had the same idea. A pot of ginger tea simmered on the stove.  
“Hey,” said Rapunzel, her voice scratchy. She still wore her grass stained gown from the night before. She sipped from a small lilac teacup with flowers she herself had painted on it.  
“Hey,” said Cass, grabbing a cup of tea for herself.  
“That was some night!” said Raps. “I just went straight to bed I was so tired.”  
“Yeah…” said Cass. Tension hung in the air. _Who’s going to say it first?_ “That was… some night.”  
“Yeah.” The two stood for a moment, nursing their hangovers in silence.  
Rapunzel placed her tea on the counter. “About what happened…”  
“Yeah?” Cass felt her heart begin to race.  
“I think…” Rapunzel started before her voice trailed off.  
Cass fixed her eyes on anywhere but Rapunzel’s face. “It was the wine.”  
“Yes,” replied Rapunzel. “I think we were both a little tipsy and just got… carried away.”  
Cass’s stomach did somersaults in her body. Her head swam as she tried not to heave. She put a hand on the counter to steady herself, almost spilling her tea. Her fingers brushed Rapunzel’s.  
Cass looked up. The pair’s eyes met.  
“Yeah, that was…” _Hot._ “That was crazy,” said Cass.  
“A-and it can’t happen again,” stuttered Rapunzel.  
“Nope.”  
“We… crossed a line. Anyway, I’m glad we had this talk.”  
Raps laughed nervously. Cass stared into her tea like it held all the secrets of the universe. After a pause, she put the tea back down on the counter. “I need to go throw up,” said Cass.  
Then she walked out of the kitchen, heart sinking further with every step.  
…  
Cass blinked in the morning sun streaming through the window. Where was she, again? Under a thin, scratchy blanket smeared with makeup and cheap perfume.  
Oh, right. Violet’s room.  
She spied Violet’s pale, naked back at the edge of the bed. Cass shifted and sat next to her.  
“Hey...” said Cass.  
“Hey,” croaked Violet. In the morning sun, without the thick coating of makeup, Cass spied the bags under her wide set eyes. Vi’s weary expression and faded rouge contrasted with the bubbly young woman she’d met the night before. She still wore her choker. It was the only item of clothing not currently flung around the modest hotel room. She’d never taken it off…  
Violet turned to Cass. “You’re still here,” she stated flatly.  
“Is that a bad thing?”  
“No.” Vi gave Cass a tired smile. She yawned.  
“So do you just not sleep?”  
“Insomnia runs in my family.”  
Cass looked at Violet’s body. In the light, she saw bruises, scrapes, worn patches of skin… and a small mass of scar tissue on Violet’s left side. She’d noticed the scar the night before, but didn’t say anything about it. The two hadn’t said much of anything…  
“So… I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” said Cass.  
Violet rolled her eyes and laughed bitterly. “Wow, sure haven’t heard that one before.”  
An awkward pause ensued.  
Cass stretched. She considered putting her arm around Violet. “What now?”  
Violet shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re still here. It’s a little weird.”  
Cass stood up, annoyed. “Do you want me to leave or not?” She started hunting around the room for her clothes. Suddenly, she felt a hand grip hers. A little rougher and firmer than Rapunzel’s, but just as warm. She turned around.  
“No,” said Violet, looking into Cass’s eyes. Her intense stare now looked bleary and bloodshot.  
“What do you want to do?” asked Cass. She looked between the door and the almost uncomfortably vulnerable woman before her. Cass’s feet wanted to bolt, but her arms wanted to wrap around this petite stranger and never let go.  
A pause. Vi hesitated. “Let’s… get something to eat?” Her gaze pleaded with Cass. She looked like a little girl asking for permission.  
Pity softened Cass’s expression. “Sure.”  
Cass got dressed. Violet dawdled putting on her frilly layers and heavy makeup.  
“You know,” said Cass with a flirty smile. “I could help you lace up that corset. I unlaced it fine last night. Being a former lady in waiting means I can do that in record time.”  
“No thanks,” said Violet, painting her lips dark red with expert precision as she gazed in the vanity mirror. Her dented flask lay next to her haphazard spread of beauty products. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you outside.”  
Cass shrugged and walked out.  
As soon as the door closed, Violet reached into the vanity’s drawer. She produced a bottle from it and filled her flask. She took a deep gulp.  
…

Rapunzel and Nigel descended the staircase into the vaults. Nigel held aloft a lantern that barely illuminated the long, dark hallway stretching out below them.  
Rapunzel wiped away an angry tear. “Nigel, I trusted you!” she fumed. Her fist gripped a one of the crumpled letters Varian threw on her desk the evening before.  
“Princess, I swear I hid them as you requested! I’ll show you,” replied Nigel. “I don’t know what happened. As I said, I remember exactly where I put them…”  
“Level 3, tenth door on the right,” Rapunzel repeated.  
Rapunzel’s feet stepped down onto the cool, damp stone of the hallway floor. She felt a spider run across her foot. She shuddered.  
The two made their way down the corridor.  
Rapunzel spotted a colorful glow emanating from an open door. The third one on the left!  
“Wait a minute!” Rapunzel exclaimed.  
The two entered the musty room with the rusted-out lock. There on the floor was a case of bright green crystals, surrounded by scattered envelopes. Varian’s staff leaned against the wall, bathing them in pink, blue, and acid green light.  
“Those crystals…” Rapunzel said. “Those were the ones Varian used to make Quirinian…”  
“Your majesty, I have never been in this room before today!” said Nigel, eyes wide with surprise.  
Rapunzel picked up one of the letters. “Well, if you didn’t put them here, who did?”  
“I don’t know, Princess! It would have to be someone who knows these vaults…”  
“And knew where the crystals were,” Rapunzel finished. She knelt down and picked up one of the crystals. “I didn’t even know we had any of these left.”  
“Neither did I, your majesty.”  
Rapunzel placed the crystal back. “Nigel, I think we should move these to a more secure area of the vaults. Deepest, most booby-trapped place we can! We can’t have these falling into the wrong hands.”  
Nigel nodded. “Understood.”  
Rapunzel picked up the staff. “I’ll make sure this gets back to Varian,” she said. She knitted her brow in worry. _I hope he’s okay. Please let him be okay!_  
…

“Blondie, I think he’ll be fine,” said Eugene.  
Rapunzel and Eugene walked down the long hallway towards the basement. Rapunzel felt a heavy weight on her shoulders, like the air itself bared down on her, suffocating her.  
“Eugene, what happened yesterday… it wasn’t normal. I’ve never seen Varian like that before.” She absentmindedly nibbled on her lower lip, wringing her hands as she stared at the floor.  
“Hey, Blondie,” Eugene soothed. “Maybe Varian just wants to be alone for a while. Not everyone is like you. Some people, when they’re upset, just need to go off and think for a bit. I know back when we were…” Eugene felt a fleeting stab in his chest. “… back when we were together, whenever you had a nightmare, you just wanted me to hold you for a while.” He remembered her tears soaking his nightshirt as his body enveloped hers, as he showered her face with comforting kisses. Sometimes it was the black rocks, sometimes it was Mother Gothel, but most nights something terrifying haunted Rapunzel’s dreams. And many nights, she crawled into his bed, wordlessly pleading for affection. “But not everyone’s like that. He probably needs some time to process. Maybe he’s not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”  
Rapunzel gazed at Eugene with puffy, red eyes. “I just… Eugene, this doesn’t feel right.”  
“No, it doesn’t” Eugene answered. “This thing with the heater… it’s fishy. That’s why we’re going to investigate.”  
Rapunzel responded with a solemn nod.  
“By the way, are you sure you want to come with? That thing could go off again…” Eugene’s protective instincts stirred. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and-“  
“I need to see!” Rapunzel interrupted. “I have to know what happened!”  
The pair stopped next to the basement door.  
“Anyway, when I said something doesn’t feel right,” continued Rapunzel. “I meant leaving Varian all alone last night, letting him just leave, didn’t feel right.”  
“Blondie, he’ll be okay,” Eugene said. “He was a little shaken, a little banged up from the blast, but-”  
“No! Eugene, you don’t understand. We weren’t in the room when the explosion happened. That scratch you saw on his face? He made that!”  
Eugene’s stomach sank to the floor. “He what?” _Kind of important information, Blondie!_  
“Eugene, I’m so scared!” said the princess. “I left him all alone again! I failed him, and…”  
With a swift, rough motion, Rapunzel hugged Eugene, closer than she had in months. He grunted in surprise, but his body flooded with relief. _I’ve missed this…_ He held her tighter. So tightly his armed ached. He could almost feel her fingernails on his back…  
Suddenly, the two heard a muffled explosion from the basement. Frantic, they broke apart. Their hearts raced. Normally, occasional small explosions were just another Tuesday, but something about this felt viscerally wrong.  
_NO, NOT AGAIN!_ Rapunzel’s thoughts screamed. Visions of soot, blood, and broken glass filled her mind like smoke. _Is he in there? Is he in there?_  
Rapunzel, then Eugene tugged at the heavy door. It didn’t budge.  
“Eugene!” ordered Rapunzel. “Jimmy this door open. NOW!”  
“Yes, Ma’am!” Under normal circumstances, he would have found her authoritative voice sexy. He took out the lockpick he kept in his pocket “just in case.”  
The pair descended the staircase. A whisp of smoke drifted upwards towards them. They coughed. Rapunzel dodged a piece of broken glass, tracked up the stairs yesterday on someone’s shoe.  
“Varian?” Rapunzel called. “Varian, are you down here?” Her eyes tracked downward and she got her answer.  
Varian stood at the now righted table with an improvised setup consisting of what chemicals and lab equipment survived the explosion, with the addition of a small pile of glowing crystals. Broken glass still littered the floor. Rapunzel spotted Varian’s spare pair of gloves lying in the wreckage ignored. His goggles sat in their default position on his singed hair, rather than over his bloodshot eyes.  
Eugene hurried down the stairs ahead of Rapunzel. He stopped her short of the broken glass.  
“Blondie, careful!” he told her.  
Rapunzel brushed Eugene aside. _Damn it, Rapunzel!_  
“Varian? Varian!” She stepped through the minefield of debris. Eugene followed close behind her, resisting the urge to scoop her up and carry her.  
The princess winced as she stepped on something small and sharp.  
“Blondie?” Eugene said, concerned.  
“I’m fine,” Rapunzel muttered.  
After what felt like ages, the two reached Varian.  
The alchemist stirred a beaker of liquid with calm, determined focus.  
Rapunzel recognized the liquid’s peculiar glow.  
“Is that… is that Quironian?!” exclaimed Rapunzel.  
Varian didn’t look up from his alchemy, as if her question went unheard.  
_Oh my god, he didn’t even correct my pronunciation!_ thought Rapunzel.  
“I know I’ll get the memory formula right this time,” Varian stated, his voice blank and distant. “I just know it.” Varian stared at the swirling liquid. “I need to forget everything.”  
Rapunzel put a hand to her lips, horrified.  
“I need this…” he murmured. He was more talking to himself than to his friends.  
“Varian…” Rapunzel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice.  
“Hairstripe?” said Eugene. “Buddy?”  
Nothing.  
Varian began to raise the concoction to his lips. Rapunzel gasped.  
“Varian, put that down,” Eugene told him, struggling to keep his voice even. “Gently.”  
Varian froze, but didn’t put it down.  
“Varian, we’re saying this as your friends. PLEASE put that down!” said Rapunzel. Tears welled in her eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. She didn’t think her heart could possibly tear into any more pieces, but she felt it rip yet again.  
The boy’s head turned towards her, his eyes exhausted, his expression blank.  
Rapunzel straightened her posture, trying not to tremble. ”Varian… as your Princess and your boss, I ORDER you to put that down.”  
“Fine,” he answered hollowly. He placed it back down.  
Eugene and Rapunzel let out audible sighs of relief.  
“Varian, you know we love you, right?” asked Rapunzel.  
Varian’s empty gaze locked onto the wall in front of him. Something within him tried to muster up an emotion, any emotion. It quickly fizzled.  
“Varian,” Eugene repeated. “We love you.”  
_I love you, too,_ Varian wanted to say. What came out was a neutral, “I’m tired.”  
“Same, kid,” said Eugene.  
Rapunzel nodded. “Same.”  
Varian let out a shuddering sigh.  
“Why don’t we get you somewhere you can rest?” said Rapunzel. “Somewhere safe.”  
Varian hung his head. A stab of embarrassment pierced through the veil that had hung between him and the world for hours. He began to feel his weak, sore body again.  
_I overreacted,_ he chided himself inwardly. _Stupid, Varian! Stupid!_  
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. “Again.”  
Rapunzel hugged him. “You have nothing to be sorry for!”  
_I have A LOT to be sorry for, such as my entire existence up to this point, but okay,_ he thought.  
Eugene and Rapunzel began walking Varian out of the basement.  
“Whatever you do, don’t leave him alone,” Rapunzel whispered to Eugene.  
“Wasn’t planning to,” the Captain replied.  
“You know I can hear you, right?” said Varian. “I’m right here.”  
“Sorry,” Rapunzel apologized. She spoke directly to Varian. “We’re going to just make sure you have company for a while, okay?”  
Varian’s face grew hot as his friends halfway dragged him up the stairs. _You’re going to babysit me like I’m a damn child? Well, there goes my last remaining shred of dignity!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! As you'll see, I've added a co-creator. I recruited my sister into a two person Tangled: the Series cult.  
> You should check out her profile! She's an award winning playwright and an absolute genius with dialogue. You're going to see some scenes later that are written mostly or entirely by her.  
> -Glow_Decay


	6. Polite Society

Violet finally met Cass outside the door to the shabby hotel, having made a conspicuously overdressed turn back into the girl Cass met at the tavern. Her red blouse and rings were cheap, but well-coordinated. The choker remained.   
Cass felt a little self-conscious in her wrinkled clothes from the night before.  
With swift, silent wings, Owl flew in and landed on Cass’s shoulder.  
“Nice of you to join us,” Cass said to Violet. Her lips formed a sarcastic, but friendly smirk.  
Violet’s immaculately lined eyes widened and sparkled. Her feet danced with uncontrollable joy, sky high boots drumming on the pavement.  
“He. Is. So. CUUUUUTE!” she squealed.  
Owl hooted and ruffled his feathers.  
“What’s his name?”  
“Um… Owl.”  
“Oh my god I just wanna SQUEEZE him!”  
“Please don’t.”  
“All right,” said Vi. She gave Cass a peck on the cheek. “He’s almost as squeezable as you.” Cass blushed.  
“Vi, can we please NOT with the public displays of affection?” Cass said, flustered. “I’m a little… uncomfortable with it.” She wiped off Violet’s crimson lip print.  
“Oh,” Violet’s face fell. “Got it.” She looked down at her feet. Cass felt a pang of guilt.  
“So,” said Cass. “I’ve heard there are some pretty good cafes over on Sun Street.”  
Violet looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Sun Street?” she asked. “Haven’t been there in a while. Rented a decent room there before a bunch of Coronans moved in with their quaint little shops and shit.” She paused. “No offense.”  
“None taken.”  
“Anyway, Cass, how do I put this?” said Violet, shuffling her feet. “I’m not exactly popular in polite society.”  
“It will be fine.” Cass put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m with you. Anyone picks on you, they’ll have me to deal with.”  
Vi shrugged. “All right, find out the hard way.” She paused. “If they do let us into one of those places, you’re paying. That shit’s expensive.”  
…

Cass’s heart filled with a familiar warmth as she walked down Sun Street with Violet. The half-timber houses, the flower boxes outside the windows, the cute shops… felt just like home!   
However, she noticed its inhabitants scurrying away from them into the businesses. Doors slammed. “Open” signs turned around into “Closed” signs. Cass frowned.  
“Hey, you!” A red-faced man poked his head out the door of a tasteful café with fancy-looking outdoor seating. “Get out of here, Violet! We’re TRYING to run respectable establishments on this block! We don’t need your type tramping up the place…”   
“Really, ‘tramping?’” scoffed Violet, nonplussed. “Is that the best you’ve got today, Robert?”  
“Don’t you talk to her like that!” shouted Cass. Subconsciously, her body went into a protective stance, shielding Violet. Owl, startled, flew off her shoulder. “Her money is as good as anybody’s!”  
“Ummm…” Violet muttered to Cass. “Pretty sure I said YOU were paying…”  
“Why would we let HER in?” Robert scoffed. “So she can sip on ONE small coffee while trolling for johns for 5 hours?”  
“First off, it was four hours!” Violet huffed. “ Secondly, I also bought a croissant!”  
Robert looked over at Cass, recognition dawning on his face. His eyes widened with rage. “And YOU! My mother lives in Corona. Your stupid rocks almost killed her! She still has nightmares about it!”   
Cass opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. _What can I even say to that?_  
The man smirked. “Heh. A traitor and a whore. You two deserve each other.” He turned around and slammed the door.  
“Well,” said Cass, defeated. She sank down onto a nearby dining chair and put her head in her hands. “That happened.”  
Violet sighed and sat down with her. “Hate to say I told you so, but… I told you so.”  
Owl fluttered back to Cass’s shoulder and gave his owner a comforting nuzzle.  
“Anyway,” said Vi. “We better get going. He probably won’t be too happy with us whoring and traitoring right next to his door.”   
Cass laughed in spite of herself. As they stood up, Cass took Violet’s hand.  
“You know what?” she said. “I think I’m okay with a little PDA after all.”  
Vi smiled.  
…

Minutes later, the two women made out in a narrow alley a block away from Violet’s hotel room. Owl sat perched on a nearby roof, keeping a look out. Violet had her back to the wall, legs completely wrapped around Cass, fluffing out her layers of skirts. Cass supported Violet in one arm as the other steadied them against the rough stone wall. She didn’t even think about the lipstick smeared on her face and down her neck, or her partially undone shirt.  
They paused, breathless, to look into each other’s eyes. “Wow,” Cass panted.  
“Likewise,” Vi giggled. She smooched Cass’s forehead. “I missed a spot.” She climbed down off of Cass.  
Vi ran her fingers over Cass’s arms. “Damn, you have nice muscles,” she cooed, gazing at them. Cass was sure she must have had the dopiest smile plastered on her face.  
Suddenly, Violet gasped, her eyes locking on Cass’s left arm.  
“What is it?” Cass said, concerned.  
“Cass, you’re glowing!”  
“Uh, thank you?”  
“No!” Violet pointed to the spot she stared at, shocked. “You are literally glowing!”  
In the shadows of the alley, Cass spotted a familiar faint blue light on her inner left arm. “What the-?”  
She rolled up her sleeve for a better look. There, just under her skin, glowed a pebble sized fragment of moonstone.  
“No way…” gasped Cass. The stone glared brighter. A burning, itching, tearing sensation ignited under her skin. She scratched frantically at the tiny rock. “No no no this isn’t happening!”  
Her chest tightened and burned. Her head swam. Her vision narrowed. She hyperventilated as her thoughts dissolved into a soundless, wordless scream.  
Violet grabbed Cass’s hand. “Cass! Cass, what’s happening?”  
Cass passed out, slumping against Vi.


	7. Stupid

This had to be the sparest of spare rooms in the entire castle. Narrow bed, narrow window. A couple of modest chairs. A small bedside table, with Varian’s now-cracked goggles on them. Varian lay on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. The thin beam of sunlight streaming in burned his eyes and hurt his head. He wished for a curtain.   
He placed the pillow over his head and shut his eyes tightly. _Just pretend you’re not here, Varian. Pretend yesterday and today didn’t happen, your dad isn’t sitting in the hospital wing, and pretend you AREN’T the most pathetic failure who ever lived. That almost worked in prison…_  
Varian could still feel a layer of grimy soot in his hair. Surely it would leave a dark spot on the bed. _You know what would work great for that? Hot running water. But right now, I don’t want to feel hot running water. I don’t want to LOOK at hot running water. If I could NEVER hear the words “hot running water” again, that would be great._ He could feel the uncleanliness down to his bones, like his very soul lay covered in a layer of filth.  
He stared at the door. He crossed his arms over his chest in a subconscious hug. He felt vulnerable and exposed without his apron and gloves, which he’d been without in prison as well. No goggles either. The glass in them could easily become an “improvised weapon,” and of course people got a little stabby in prison. He’d felt constant, creeping eyes on him at all times. Guards, other inmates, practically everyone. Studying him like he was some insect in a jar. No escape. Nothing to do. No visitors. Nowhere safe. Whose mind _wouldn’t_ check out for a while?  
Old Mrs.Crowley sat in a chair by the door, knitting some unidentifiable wool abomination. Watch this kid for a while and make sure he doesn’t die? Easy! Best job ever!  
Eugene had sat in that chair for a while earlier, trying and failing to make conversation before going off to have a meeting with the royals. _I’m not in a talking mood,_ thought Varian.  
But really? Crowley of all people? Varian felt borderline insulted. _I helped break out of the highest security prison in Corona, and you don’t think I could push past an old lady if I wanted to? Guess you really trust me…_  
What time was it anyway? No clocks anywhere. Just like his old cell. It had to be afternoon right now, judging by that harsh sunlight jabbing him in the brain.  
 _At least when Cassandra kidnapped me and put me in that cage outside her tower, I had a nice view,_ he remembered. _Well, I had a nice view BEFORE she put me out there! She wore that black rock armor really well… evil or not, she never stopped being cute._  
Cassandra, evil? Like he had room to judge. _I cracked her ribs, she cracked mine. Weirdly fair._  
Crowley noticed Varian looking at the door. She glanced over dispassionately. “You smell burnt,” she said, the first words she’d exchanged with him the whole time she’d been sitting there.  
 _I feel burnt._ “Yeah,” said Varian. _I also feel degraded. Humiliated. Stupid. Crazy…_ He let out a barely audible, snorting chuckle. _You try to drink ONE glowing green substance and everyone thinks you’re crazy! I wasn’t trying to off myself, I was JUST trying to erase my stupid, stupid memory. I’m so weak and stupid! STUPID STUPID STUPID!_  
He hated how people treated him after his friends found him in the basement that morning. How they spoke in hushed whispers about him while he was right there, the looks of pity, the condescension … a bile of bitterness rose in him that he hadn’t felt in many months. _They think I’m mad, I’ll SHOW them mad! Or I would if I had any guts left. I’d almost rather have everyone hate me. Maybe Cassie was right when she said I “lost my nerve” and “lost the game.”_  
He restlessly shuffled his feet on the bed. He noticed a hole in one sock. _Just two days and everything went wrong again! How? Why me? Am I really so pathetic that one little thing happens and I fall apart all over again? Well… yes. Stupid, pathetic Varian._  
He didn’t bother wiping away the tears that soaked the pillow. He turned away so Mrs.Crowley wouldn’t see him cry. _Nobody in all of the Seven Kingdoms deserves to put up with me. Everyone would be better off if I’d never been born. I should just…_ He didn’t dare finish that thought.  
He turned over again and fell into a restless sleep.

…

“You’ll never take me alive!” squeaked Varian, his voice cracking again, as the guards dragged him out of his automaton. He immediately realized how ridiculous that sounded as he kicked the air futilely. _They kind of just did… That came off so much better in the Flynn Rider books!_ Varian tossed a random ball of chemicals to the ground. It bubbled uselessly. Shit! Bath bomb!  
One of the guards chortled.  
Ruddiger scurried into the prison wagon just before the guards locked the door.  
“I will make you proud, Dad,” Varian seethed. “If it’s the last thing I do.”  
He felt the carriage lurch forward. As it moved away from Old Corona, away from the tattered remains of his childhood, he could have sworn he heard Rapunzel asking the king to get him “help.”   
_HELP? Oh yeah sure, locking me away is reeeeally going to do wonders for my mental health! Stop pretending to care, Princess!_  
Varian shivered in the damp, cold, breeze whistling through the bars on the small back window. He reached a hand up to pet Ruddiger. The raccoon perched on his shoulders like a warm, comforting scarf.  
“Ruddiger,” he whispered to him. “You are the ONE person… well, being… in this entire kingdom that hasn’t betrayed me.” He stroked the creature’s soft fur. “Well, other than my dad,” he added. “Thanks, Buddy.”  
Ruddiger chattered softly in response.  
As the wagon shuddered along, Varian struggled to follow where they were going through every turn in the path. Nothing but blackness lay outside of the bars. A thick drizzle of rain began to fall. _Right… left… are we going west right now? East? THINK, Varian! THINK!_  
Time dragged on from minutes to hours. How long had it been?  
Varian felt various glass vials clink together in his pockets, under his gloves, and up his sleeves. _Should I? Maybe there’s something in here that I could use to escape? No! I don’t want to hurt Ruddiger, even accidentally._  
A sound broke through the monotonous drone of the rain and muddy hoofbeats. He heard the sound of a heavy portcullis being raised, chains squealing like the screams of the damned. Slowly, the carriage went through gate after gate, each one sounding heavier and more menacing than the last. He counted at least 6.  
A corpse like stench wafted in from outside. _Damn, that’s rank!_ He caught whiffs of sewage, mold, blood, and rot. If despair had a smell, this would be it.   
The wagon jerked to a stop. The door to the wagon flung open.  
The tallest, largest guard trudged in, heavy boots thundering on the hard floor. He grabbed Varian’s arm so roughly the teen let out an involuntary cry of pain. Ruddiger snarled and tried to bite the guard.  
“Goddamn vermin!” shouted the guard.  
Another, smaller guard ripped Ruddiger from Varian’s shoulders.  
“RUDDIGER, NO!” Varian wailed.  
The guard unceremoniously tossed Ruddiger away. Ruddiger took off like a shot, glancing behind as he ran for his life.  
“Run, Ruddiger, RUN! Don’t worry about me!” yelled Varian as guards wrenched him from the wagon. The boy was glad for the rain that soaked the group. It hid his tears.  
The guards dragged him into a stern, unforgiving stone building that loomed above them.  
They went down a long hallway lit only by torches on the walls. At the end of it, they tossed him roughly into a cell with only a small, barred window looking out into the hallway.   
Varian slumped down the far wall onto a cold, hard floor littered with damp straw.  
In the dim light, Varian spied scratches from desperate fingernails on the door. He shivered in cold and fear. His arm and shoulder throbbed. Did they dislocate it?  
He heard gruff voices outside, snatches of conversation. Various guards frequently glared into the holding cell, wanting to have a look at the notorious young traitor for themselves.   
“General population? You’re kidding, right?” Varian heard a guard say. “The kid is about 90 pounds soaking wet! They’ll eat him alive in there!”  
“Certainly doesn’t take after his dad. Quirin’s built like an ox,” said a second guard. “Or perhaps I should say ‘was’ built like an ox. No way he’s still alive in that amber!”   
Varian’s breath caught in his throat. He wiped away another tear.  
“Scrawny little freak could use some toughening up!” the second guard continued. “We can’t go easy on him. If people even think Corona goes easy on traitors, they’ll get ideas…”  
“Yeah, agreed! He’s probably likes to be alone, seeing as he’s one of those brainy weirdo types,” added a third guard. “He’s here to be punished! Throw him in with the rest of the animals! Back when I was his age, traitors were hanged! People are too soft these days…”  
“That’s enough, Thomas,” a fourth voice stepped in, calm but authoritative. “Let’s make him share a cell with one of our best-behaved prisoners. What’s that one who helps us in the records room? Sage? Maybe he’ll be a good influence on the kid. Well, as much of a good influence as an attempted murderer CAN be. Sort that out. We’ll get him settled there in the morning.”  
“Y-yes, Warden!” stammered Thomas. “Whatever you say!”   
_I guess I’m an attempted murderer too,_ thought Varian. For the first time all day, true remorse punched him in the gut. _I didn’t WANT to kill anyone. I didn’t even think about it before I did it. But I COULD have… I ALMOST killed Cass…_  
After a while, the door opened again. Guards pushed and shoved Varian into a nearby room before slamming the door. One guard was a grizzled middle-aged man in a slightly fancier uniform. He supposed that was the warden.  
The room was lined with locked, numbered compartments. A splintering wooden table lay in the center of the room. A slender, younger guard sat at it.  
“Right,” he said. “Empty your pockets.” Varian hesitated.  
“Empty them or we’ll do it for you!” said a guard from behind him.  
Varian reached into his pocket and placed a single glass vial on the table.  
“All of them!” said the man at the table.  
A small collection of vials clinked out onto the table.  
“Gloves,” said the man.  
Varian rolled his eyes. More vials spilled out of his gloves as he put those on the table as well.  
“Apron.”  
Varian took off the apron. More vials in its pockets.  
“Sleeves.”  
Varian rolled up his sleeves. More vials.  
At the end of the process, an impressive pile sat on the table.  
“Destroy all the weapons,” said the warden. “Last thing we need is some psycho getting ahold of these and starting chemical warfare!”  
“Goggles, too, kid,” said the table man, gentler than before. “We won’t destroy those or the gloves or the apron, but we need to lock all those up.”  
“I’m not a kid,” Varian growled. He gave up his most prized accessory. He felt a piece of his identity go with it.  
After all this, Varian was unceremoniously shoved back into the holding cell, feeling naked and exposed.  
 _I should have tried harder to escape,_ thought Varian. _Maybe… part of me thinks I deserve this?_  
He curled up in a fetal position and tried to pretend he was anywhere but there. He thudded his head against the back wall.  
 _STUPID… STUPID…STUPID…_


	8. A Very Bad Place

“Rapunzel, we have no other alternative,” King Fredric said, frowning.  
“We have to be cautious,” Queen Arianna agreed. “Just for now.”  
Rapunzel wrung her hands as she stared at her lap. Her parents sat across from her in one of the palace’s many conference rooms. Eugene sat by her left. Nigel took notes at the king’s side.  
“Surely there has to be another way!” exclaimed Rapunzel. “Shut down the hot water completely? Won’t people ask why? What am I supposed to tell-?”  
“It’s temporary,” King Fredric firmly interrupted. “I’m sorry, Rapunzel.”  
Eugene nodded. “I’ll get a team together to investigate, Sir. In the meantime…?”  
“Shut off the heaters,” the Queen finished sadly. “We can’t tell if this was an accident or sabotage or… I don’t know what. But until we know…”  
“We can’t just turn them down?” Rapunzel asked hopefully.  
Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. “No, sweetie… this is what’s best.”  
Rapunzel swallowed hard. Deep down, she suspected her parents and Eugene were right.  
…

“Varian’s in a very bad place right now, and… I don’t know what to tell him about all this,” said Rapunzel. She leaned on the railing of the balcony as she gazed out across her picturesque kingdom. The bags under her green eyes made her look older and wearier than her 21 years.  
“Blondie, I hate to say it, but…” Eugene ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s not the most important thing right now. We have the safety of the kingdom at stake.”  
“I know…” sighed Rapunzel. Visions of her beloved kingdom in ruins all over again flashed through her mind. “We still have guards stationed at the basement door, right? It’s all secure? And Varian’s still..?”  
“Yes,” the Captain reassured her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s safe. And nobody is going in or out of that basement.”  
Rapunzel smiled weakly, still looking out over Corona.  
Suddenly, she frowned.  
“What is it?” Eugene asked. He followed her gaze.  
There, fluttering in the breeze, all across the town and working their way onto the palace grounds were… what were they? It looked almost like large, white leaves, or… papers? They were papers!  
As if on cue, a strong gust of wind blew one of the papers up towards them. Eugene caught it.  
He and Rapunzel looked at the alarming text printed on it.  
“What the..?!” exclaimed Eugene.  
…

Heather knew something was wrong as soon as people started arriving for the second meeting. Attila’s apple cinnamon cookies lay neglected. The tea was starting to get cold. More nervous movements, less smiling.  
“Monty, everyone seems uneasy. Is it something I did at the last meeting?” Heather asked.  
He patted her arm. “Of course not. You did great. It’s these.”  
He handed her a flier with a crude depiction of one of the new water heaters subtitled with big black letters. “Filthy Traitor Manipulating Unsuspecting Princess! “'Water Heaters' Are Bombs Set To Blow Corona Sky High! Detonation At Palace Was Only The Beginning!” On the back, small, hastily printed text detailed an explosion at the palace the night before. The fliers were smudged and crooked in places, like someone had cranked them out at light speed.  
Heather raised her eyebrows. “What?” _Why didn’t we hear about this? Are they trying to avoid a panic?_  
“These are everywhere,” Monty told her, his brow wrinkled with worry. “No one knows where they came from.”  
“How strange!” said Heather. “We have one right down the street that provides our hot water, right? It’s been there a few months with no problems.”  
“Exactly!” replied Monty. “And as you know, I was there with Varian when he helped us save Corona. Why would he go through that only to hatch some plot to blow us all up? What these fliers are saying holds up about as well as the butter you left in direct sunlight on the windowsill that one time. It stinks like that time you left a couple eggs somewhere because you got distracted, and we didn’t find them for a week. The whole theory curdles like that chocolate you didn’t mix right..”  
“I get it, Monty!”  
“Sorry.”  
_These mysterious fliers might be more important to talk about than the black rocks,_ Heather thought.  
Heather walked to the front of the room and cleared her throat.  
“Hi,” she said, almost hiding the shakiness in her voice. “Welcome, and welcome back. So, these fliers, huh? Let’s talk about them. Or the rocks. Whichever you feel you need more. Would someone like to start us off?”  
Feldspar the cobbler stood up. He always reminded Heather of a gangly squirrel, and today he was twitchier than usual. “I’ve got one of the heaters right under my shop. I live there. What if it blows up and I lose everything? I…I can’t handle that. It’s too much.”  
“Thanks for sharing that,” said Heather. “No wonder you’re worried. I think that’s completely fair.”  
“That’s right!” a woman shouted out from the back.  
“Shut up,” someone shushed them. “These stupid things are wrong and you know it!”  
“Easy for you to say!” countered the first voice. “There’s one of those heaters under my house!”  
“The princess wouldn’t let them install the water heaters if they weren’t safe,” Xavier said.  
“She doesn’t know!” cried someone else. “It’s not hard to pull the wool over her eyes! Both Varian and Cassandra did that!”  
“But Varian helped save us from Zhan Tiri and Cassandra!”  
“Did he? Damn it, no one tells me anything!”  
The voices came from all sides now, people all over the room.  
“What if the heaters all explode?”  
Heather felt a fog of panic creeping through the room. The same icy panic coiled in her belly.  
“One at a time, please!” said Heather. She addressed the first voice. “Would you like to share why you’re upset?”  
A red-haired woman stood up, her hair in an intricately braided updo. “I had to rebuild my house from scratch. My girls and I just moved back in last week. They’re still having nightmares about the rocks. And now these water heaters might destroy my home again? I didn’t even know I should be afraid about that!”  
“Varian was working with those Saporians,” someone pointed out.  
“It’s a plot! A Saporian plot!” shouted a man. Heather couldn’t connect a name to the voice.  
The crowd rumbled with arguments.  
She heard her mother’s words scratch in her head like a burrowing insect. _“No, we’re not going back to Corona, sweetie… It’s a Very Bad Place…”_  
Heather shook her head. _No… not if I can help it, Mama._  
“Everybody, everybody!” cried Heather. “I get that you’re scared. Angry. That makes perfect sense. I think those feelings are normal, especially with everything Corona has been through. But these fliers… I think somebody is trying to make you scared on purpose.”  
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.  
Heather scanned the room.  
The crowd seemed to relax. Several people went up to get cookies.  
Heather felt the tenseness in her shoulders relax. _Okay, then… an uneasy peace? For now? I guess?_  
She collapsed into her chair. Monty gave her a reassuring nod and a thumbs up. He handed her a cookie.  
She took it and nibbled, barely tasting it. _I’ve got to ask Rapunzel what’s going on!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, finally, am I right?  
> Sorry this one took a while! Sometimes dialogue driven scenes intimidate me, so thanks to my sister Pash_12 for picking up the slack! (Even in the chapters where she technically didn't write them, her fingerprints are all over this story.)  
> More chapters coming pretty soon. I often write them out of order and release them in 2-3 chapter chunks. Chapter 9 is already well on its way to completion.  
> I have ADHD inattentive subtype, so sometimes it's hard to Do The Thing, even if said thing is something I love doing.  
> Thanks for all the kudos and hits!  
> -Glow_Decay


	9. Shrapnel

Cass sat on the edge of Violet’s bed, eyes puffy from weeping. A tear splashed onto the bag of fried, sugary dough in her lap. Another one. Just when I thought I had no tears left to cry.  
Vi adjusted the improvised cold compress wrapped around Cass’s arm. It was one of Violet’s thicker stockings, soaked in cold water.   
“Awww, poor sweetie,” Violet cooed. She grabbed one of the mini donuts and offered it to her. “Here. Have another one.”  
Cass tearfully chewed the sweet cinnamon goodness, which Vi purchased from a traveling street vendor who recognized neither of them.  
“Has it stopped burning?” asked Vi.  
“Mostly,” Cass sniffed, feeling awkward. _I can’t believe I’m crying in front of her!_ Cass could count the number of people she’d cried in front of on one hand. Meanwhile, this girl she met yesterday was patting her back and lending her a lacy handkerchief as she bawled her eyes out.  
“So… you’re saying that during one battle with Rapunzel, the moonstone broke? And that thing in your arm is part of the moonstone?” Vi asked gently.  
“Yes,” said Cass, putting on a stoic face despite the throbbing, pulsating ache under her arm. “It must have cut into me and somehow worked its way to my arm. But… why is it acting up now? It just doesn’t make any sense…”  
“Have you done anything different lately?”   
“Well… you,” answered Cass. “But why would _you_ somehow activate the moonstone?”  
“Yeah, that’s pretty weird…” Vi absent-mindedly tugged on her choker. “Hey, I want to show you something.”  
“Yeah?”  
Vi pulled off her sheer chemise. Despite her pain, Cass’s stomach fluttered in excitement. “Put your hand right here,” said Vi.  
“Huh?” replied Cass, distracted.  
Vi rolled her eyes and sighed. She put Cass’s hand on the side of her waist. Over her large scar. “Do you feel that scratchy spot right there?”  
“Yes.” Something poked just under Violet’s skin.  
“That’s part of an arrowhead. Got shot a couple times around a year ago,” said Vi. “Bitch didn’t even use her good arrows on me. She used this cheap shit. One broke, and part of it is still there.”  
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Cass said.  
“Oh, don’t be. I’m… fine.”  
“Who did that? I need names. I just wanna talk…” Cass felt grateful for the distraction from her throbbing arm, from the troubling memories of black rocks and demons.   
“It’s a long story,” Violet dodged.  
“Don’t you want it gone?” asked Cass.  
“Meh. I’m used to it at this point. Sometimes it gets me some extra pity coin from my clients, the ones who ask, anyway. I tell each one a different sob story. Hunting accident, bad boyfriend, tragic sex swing mishap… whatever they want to hear.”  
Cass couldn’t help but chuckle at that last one.  
Violet cleared her throat. “So… that rock thingie in your arm. What do you want to do about it?”  
…

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vi examined a small dagger. A wide array of weapons from Cass’s luggage lay in a pile on the bed.  
“Get rid of the last physical reminder of the worst decisions I ever made in my life? That hurts like hell? Yeah, I think I do!”  
“Here.” Vi handed Cass her flask.  
Cass took a swig and coughed. The alcohol tasted like turpentine with a cloying overlay of sugar and spices. “Gah! What the hell is this?”  
“Cheap and strong. Also sugar and spices and shit. Don’t be picky.”  
 _Emphasis on the “shit,”_ thought Cass.  
Violet took the flask from her and took a long drink from it.  
“Can you maybe not get wasted right before cutting into my arm, please and thank you?” snapped Cass.  
“Relax!” said Violet. “I got this.”  
Violet raised the dagger. “You sure about this?” she asked again.  
Cass nodded. She took a few more sips from the flask. Her head grew fuzzy, her face warm.  
“Okay,” Violet said after a few minutes. “You ready?”  
Cass grimaced. “As I’ll ever be.”   
Violet started to work on her arm.  
“So,” she asked. “You left Corona months ago, right? How have you been travelling?”  
“Fidella.”   
“Who?”  
“My horse. She’s in the stable down the street. Sometimes we stay different places, sometimes…weroughit.” Her words began to slur together. Her head bobbed and weaved.  
Violet raised an eyebrow. “Someone who used to live in a literal palace voluntarily roughing it? Now I’ve heard everything.”  
Cass felt the knife poking her arm. She jerked.  
“Stay still!” Violet chided. “Damn it, sometimes I forget humans… I mean other people, can’t hold their liquor as well as I can.”  
 _Humans?_ thought Cass. _What a weird thing to say…_  
Cass thought of sleeping out under the stars. How the stars looked like millions of tiny lanterns rising into the sky… how every time she looked at them she thought of the kiss she shared with Rapunzel under a shower of glittering light. That fleeting instant… so warm, so dizzying, so perfect…  
“You’re so pretty…” Cass murmured. Her face flushed, from alcohol, the memory, or the practically naked woman in the room with her. She couldn’t tell which.  
“I know, right?” cooed Violet. “You too.”  
Cass giggled.  
“Sooo, I don’t want to alarm you, Cass, but…” Vi raised a bent dagger.  
The sight hit Cass like a bucket of ice-cold water. Not enough to even approach sobriety though.  
“Wh-what?”  
“Yeah… this thing won’t cut. Probably dull?”  
“No, no!” Cass said in disbelief. “I just… I just sharpened that thing!”  
“I’ll try another,” replied Violet. She lifted a slightly larger dagger from the array of formidable weapons on the bed. She tried to dig into Cass’s arm again. This time, the knife broke!  
 _The armor… the armor is ME now!_ thought Cass. _Why, why, WHY?_  
“LEMMETRY!” bellowed Cass. Vi jumped a little, startled.  
Vi handed Cass a sword. It crumpled. “What the HELL?!” She frantically grabbed weapon after weapon, trying to stab into her arm. Trying her other arm. Chest, stomach, neck! Blades bent, broke, and shattered all over Cass’s body. Not a scratch on her! Not even much pain, just a little pressure.  
“It’s just like the blackrocks… like the armor,” sobbed Cass, giving up after a fourth of her weapons lay broken on the floor. “It’s no use!”  
Cass let out an animal cry of frustration. “DAMN IT!” she shouted.   
Vi recoiled from the sound.  
“Oh, sorry!” said an embarrassed Cass. “Didn’t mean… toscareyou.”  
“I’m fine,” replied Vi, her voice curt.  
There was an awkward pause. The two women looked away from each other.  
“Well?” Vi asked after a moment. “This isn’t all bad, is it?”  
“This looks… prettydamnbad to me,” muttered Cass.  
“Cass, you’re indestructible! Don’t you know how many people would kill to have that power?”  
“IT. HURTS.” Cass gritted her teeth. She felt a throbbing pain start to return. The shard winked beneath her skin, as if mocking her.  
Vi’s hand grabbed Cass’s. Vi always held it just a little too hard, but there was something strangely comforting about it, even if their fingers were sore after a couple minutes. They looked back at each other.  
“Look,” said Vi. “I’ll go over to the apothecary down the street. I’m sure I can get something to help with that pain.”  
“Do you even have… have enough money forthat?”  
“Don’t worry about it! I got this.”  
Cass was reminded of Rapunzel’s boundless optimism. Her generosity, her vivaciousness, her…  
Cass cleared her throat and put on her best dignified voice. “Thank you. I… I appreciate it. Just one thing! I’m paying… payingyouback for it.”  
Violet shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself.”  
Cass slumped, faceplanting onto a pillow. “I’manidiot…” she slurred, her voice muffled. “Fuckingmoonstonebullshit!”  
“Hey, watch your fucking language!” said Violet. “You’re not an idiot.” She turned Cass over onto her side.  
Cass’s eyes fluttered shut. She heard Violet shuffling around, gathering weapons from the bed and floor and placing them on the dresser. She felt a blanket pulled onto her, a peck on her tear stained cheek.  
“Fuckingmoonstone…prettygirl…” Cass murmured before dozing off.


	10. Big Boys Don't Cry

Quirin creaked open the door to the spare room. He heard two sets of snoring, one coming from the curled up form on the bed, and another coming from old lady Crowley, who sat napping in a chair by the door, knitting still in hand. Late afternoon sun poured in from the warm room’s narrow window. Dust motes danced in its golden light.  
Rapunzel had told him what happened to Varian. Of the panic followed by absent blankness, followed by… an incident.  
The man crept over to Varian. The boy slept with his mouth open, a small puddle of drool on the pillow, the blanket gathered around him like a nest. His son had always slept like that, curled up tight with mouth open, even as a baby. Quirin smiled faintly at the memory of toddler Varian’s tiny, adorable snores.  
_Where does the time go? Sixteen years! I wish you were here for all of them, Ulla._ In his mind’s eye, he saw his beautiful wife rocking baby Varian to sleep, humming an improvised lullaby. Her graceful hand stroking the blue streak in the infant’s hair after she laid him in his crib. _I could never calm him as well as she did. Our bright, fussy little baby..._  
Quirin sighed. Both sides of Varian’s lineage had always been prone to… nerves. Quirin’s scared, quiet grandmother who seldom left her home. Quirin’s uncle, who heard voices nobody else could and paced the halls, muttering to the air. Ulla’s brother, who… he frowned. _We just don’t talk about those things in this family. We toughen up. We move on. We have to. Maybe that’s wrong though. Maybe if we talked more…_  
Quirin reflected on the dark, silent months trapped in amber, slipping in and out of consciousness, hand reaching out to no one. In all his scattered memories of that time, one cluster of thoughts stood out: _Varian. Where is my boy? Is he all right? What is he doing right now?_  
The man put a hand to the bandage on his sore head, trying to think back to what happened the night before. He went to tighten a loose bolt, everything blew up in his face in a blinding flash of light, and… that was it. He wracked his brain trying to figure out what he did to set it off. Deep in his gut, he felt whatever happened with the heater, it was NOT Varian’s fault. _Perhaps it was my fault?_  
Quirin remembered the look in his son’s downcast eyes when he told him what he’d done while he was trapped in amber. Kidnapping the queen, threatening the princess, assaulting his friends! In that surreal moment, his stomach sank through the floor. Not his smart, gentle boy! Never! Why?  
_If I hadn’t been so harsh on you,_ thought Quirin. His eyes stung with tears of remorse. _If I’d listened, if I’d encouraged you, if I’d said ‘I love you’ more often, if I hadn’t stood so close to those rocks. If I’d done enough…_  
The teen in the bed suddenly tensed and whimpered in his sleep. Quirin lay a calloused, but gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. Varian quieted.  
He shook his head at the thought of his son in prison all those months. Alone, afraid, no one to protect him from monsters, both external and internal. Inside, he still heard three year old Varian asking him to check under the bed for boogey men during his short-lived monster phase.   
The child was an early talker, speaking in long, complete sentences by two. A late walker, but a loquacious little one! At three, Varian learned the word “alchemy.” By four, he could read about it. The father remembered his son with his very first pair of goggles sitting on his head, eagerly studying an enormous book Quirin himself could barely understand. Varian’s dangling, kicking legs didn’t even reach the floor.  
Little Varian babbled to the other children about what he read, an excited grin on his face as he shared every minute detail about rocks, engineering, chemicals… as the other children frowned with boredom and walked away. Varian came to his father, baffled. _“Daddy, why won’t the other kids talk to me?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him…_ And as advanced as he was, Varian also bumped into things all the time. He tripped his way into more skinned knees than the other kids. Quirin cringed with regret as he recalled what he told his weeping child. _“Big boys don’t cry, Varian. You’re a big boy now!”_  
The boy’s peers teased him for losing every physical game. Old Corona’s children stopped playing with him. Old Corona’s adults just looked Varian’s way and shook their heads, bracing for the next explosion, the next embarrassment. _“That Quirin, he’s the salt of the earth! A man’s man! How did he end up with such a weird child?”_  
Both times Quirin asked his teenage son about his time in prison, he changed the subject. Varian busied himself with projects, mixing chemicals with his faithful raccoon wrapped around his shoulders.  
Quirin picked up Varian’s fractured goggles from the bedside table and examined them. At least they were ONE thing that could be fixed. He gently placed them back down.  
“I promise you,” Quirin whispered to his sleeping son. “I’m not leaving this castle until I get to take you home safe with me. I’m proud of you, and I will NEVER let another day go by without saying that.”  
Quirin tiptoed out towards the door. He glanced back at the boy.  
_Maybe some day he’ll tell me what he went through in that horrible place… I just hope I’m ready to truly listen._  
…

Varian awoke to the creaking of a heavy door.  
“Right. Get up,” said a gruff voice.  
He raised his groggy head to see another two drone-like guards looking down at him. A twinge shot through his neck. His body ached from the damp and cold. As he stood up, every joint in his body groaned in protest. Passing out slumped against an unforgiving stone wall will do that to you.  
“Come on,” ordered the guard on the left. Each one grabbed an arm and took him from the cell.  
Soon, they were marching him down a dim, interminable hallway. Narrow, dingy cells lined either side, two inmates each sharing a bunk bed.  
Prisoners’ eyes followed Varian like haunted portraits. One prisoner paced like a wild animal, muttering incoherently. Another tapped at the bars with nails filed into points. Still others threw taunts his way.  
“You won’t last long in here, you little shit!”  
“Awww, not so tough without your machines, are you little guy?”  
“Why don’t you write your daddy to come bail you out? Oh right, he can’t!”  
Some other prisoners snarled words at he didn’t understand, but figured were slurs by the cruel expressions on their faces. Varian dodged a wad of phlegm spat in his direction.  
But amongst all the aggressive faces, there were others who sent shivers up Varian’s spine even more. Some inmates stared blankly ahead. Eyes sunken and hollow. Zombies removed from humanity. Saying nothing, doing nothing. Just waiting to die…  
The guards, indifferent, trudged onward.  
They reached the end of the hallway, which contained a cell so starkly different it almost looked like it had been dropped in from another building altogether. Through the bars, Varian could see the same stone walls and floor, sure, but these looked meticulously scrubbed, almost sparkling. The cell was at least twice as large as the others, with two neatly made cots on either side, rather than the standard bunks. A stone bench acted as a makeshift bookshelf, a few modest volumes held up with humble, but well-crafted bookends.  
The only thing interrupting the spotlessness was the hundreds of white chalk hash marks on the wall, but even those were arranged in tidy, even rows.  
On the left hand cot, a tall, slender man in his mid 20s lay reading a book. He looked up and nodded a greeting as Varian approached.  
The guards shoved Varian into the cell and slammed the gate shut behind him. A fresh jolt of pain shot through boy’s shoulder, accompanied by silent, seething rage. _Stop being so damn rough with me!_  
Fuming, Varian stormed back towards the door and opened his mouth to shout at the backs of the guards.  
“Yeah, don’t,” said the man on the cot.  
Varian whirled around. “Don’t WHAT?”  
The man closed his book and sat up.  
“Don’t try to get mouthy with them. They’ll just be meaner.”  
Varian tried to form a retort, but his tired mind failed him. He stomped over to the other cot to sulk, arms crossed over his chest.  
“So,” the man on the cot said. “How are you holding up?” He ran a hand through his curly brown hair.  
“Well,” Varian snapped. “I’m in prison, my dad’s probably dead, everyone hates me, I hate everyone, and there’s nothing I can do about it! How do you THINK I’m holding up?”  
“Okay, fair enough. Dumb question.”  
The cot wasn’t much better than sitting on the stone. At least the cot had a pitiful excuse for a blanket, though.  
“You’re Quirin’s kid, Varian,” mentioned the man. “Looked through your file this morning. Thickest file I’ve ever seen for a first timer, I’m telling you!”  
Varian grunted.  
“I’m… I’m sorry about your dad,” the cellmate said softly. “I read the brief summary of what happened… and gathered some information by eavesdropping, too. News spreads fast. Anyway, I’m Sage.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Varian’s voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. “Charmed. Thrilled. Sooo happy to be here.” As soon as the harshness left his mouth, regret stung him.  
Sage shrugged and went back to reading. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll leave you be,” he said matter-of-factly, without hint of malice.  
Varian sighed. “Sorry… I’m just…” Varian shivered and wrapped himself in the scratchy blanket. As the flash of rage wore off, the cold crept in again.  
“No, no! I get it.” Sage smiled. “I have a sibling your age, by the way. Not sure if you would have ever met them. Or any of my other siblings, for that matter. My mom… well, she always said to stay away from Quirin’s kid. Said he was weird.”  
“Well,” Varian snickered in spite of himself. “She’s clearly not wrong! Not many kids build giant automatons and kidnap royals, do they?”  
“Yeah, no,” Sage chuckled. He had a warm, deep, barely audible laugh.  
“Thanks,” said Varian. “For saying you’re sorry about my dad…” He hung his head. “Seems like you’re the only one besides me who is. Nobody seems to care unless I make them…”  
“People probably care more than you think, kid.” Sage looked up from his book and at Varian with sympathetic hazel eyes.  
I’m not a kid! Varian wanted to shout, but Sage’s apparent kindness disarmed him.  
Varian looked around the fastidious cell. Sage had almost managed to make it look like a normal room, save for the institutional harshness and chalk marks on the wall. “Why are you even here?” he asked.  
“Well… I don’t want to talk about it right now. But I’ll just say I’m not proud of it. Sufficient?”  
“Quite.”  
“How long have you been in here?” Varian asked. _How long am I going to be stuck here?_  
“237, no…” Sage produced a piece of white chalk from under his flat pillow and made another neat mark on the wall. “…238 days here, as of this morning. Only 1,587 more to go! I’m telling you, if I lost track of time, I think I’d lose my mind.”  
“I think I lost mine already!” said Varian.  
“Speaking of time, any second now…” Two bowls of unappetizing goop were slid into the cell. Each contained a rusty spoon sinking slowly into the porridge. Varian wrinkled his nose.  
“Thank you,” Sage said. The guard nodded.  
Sage picked up a bowl and removed its spoon. With a swift, practiced motion, he held his nose and drank the sludge in just a couple of gulps.  
Varian stared at him.  
“It’s better if you don’t taste it,” Sage explained. “It’s not as bad as the weird stew they serve for dinner though. I have no idea what they put in that stuff!”  
Varian looked down at the other bowl… at the spoon.  
He picked up the bowl, held his nose, and downed the slop. He almost gagged on its slimy, chunky texture.  
Next, Varian tried to sneak the spoon into his shoe…  
“Let me guess,” said Sage. “You’re going to keep that spoon, sharpen it, maybe try to pick that lock, maybe try to figure out some alchemy stuff with it, and hatch an escape plan. Yeah, don’t do that. I’ve seen people try. Well, minus the alchemy part, anyway. It never works.”  
Varian threw the rusted spoon on the ground. “Don’t try this! Don’t try that! COME ON!” yelled Varian. “Don’t tell me what to do! You think I don’t get enough of that already?” Varian went back to sulking.  
Sage sighed. “Just trying to help you,” he said. “You’re the youngest person here, you know. Guess it’s just my big brother instincts kicking in.”  
In response, Varian rolled himself in the blanket and lay down facing the wall. The scratchy fabric assaulted his skin, but he’d wrap himself in cacti in that moment if it meant he could hide… _Maybe if I’d had a big brother, none of this would have happened. Maybe Dad would still be…_  
Tears rolled down Varian’s face. In a single blink, he started sobbing uncontrollably, shutting his eyes tight against the world.  
“Hey, Varian?” He heard Sage walk over and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Well, scratch that. Maybe not okay, but… survivable. Better than right now. Well, I can’t promise anything, but it CAN get better.”  
Varian sniffled. He opened his eyes and rolled over to look at Sage.  
“Inspiring words, I know,” Sage said dryly.  
Varian laughed. Just a little. Just enough.  
“Just… just one thing though,” Sage added, his voice hushed and worried. “Don’t cry in front of anyone else here, okay? Some of these guys are just itching to hurt anyone they perceive as vulnerable. The LAST thing I want is for you to get hurt.”  
Varian nodded grimly, his brief flash of comfort fading. “Got it.”  
_Big boys don’t cry…_


	11. Grown-Up Problems

“Good morning!” Eugene greeted, coffee in hand.  
He got no response. Rapunzel sat at a small table under a gazebo, teacup in hand. In his head, he heard her usual bright, sing-song morning greeting in response. But this morning there was nothing but chirping birds and a light early summer breeze.  
“Blondie?” Eugene sat down beside her and put his own mug down on the table.  
“Hm?” Rapunzel looked up. “Oh, hi Eugene.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  
“Are you missing Cassandra?” asked Eugene. Cass and Raps had shared a tearful goodbye a few days before. He caressed Rapunzel’s hand with his own. Engagement rings twinkled on their fingers, bright as the lanterns on the night they fell in love… as bright as their future on the night he proposed to her. Well, ONE of the nights he proposed to her.  
“Uh, y-yes…” Rapunzel looked away.  
Eugene frowned. “Sunshine, what’s wrong? I can tell something’s been bothering you ever since the Goodwill Festival.”  
He squeezed her hand. “Whatever it is, I promise to listen to you. We said we’d tell each other everything.”  
“I know,” Rapunzel replied. Eugene saw tears shining in the corners of her eyes. Her gaze planted on their hands… on the rings. She squeezed his hand so hard he felt a joint pop.  
“Eugene…”  
“Yes?”  
“I’ve been hiding something from you…”  
Eugene’s breath caught in his throat. What was it? Nightmares? Prophecies? Some other ominous magic on the horizon?  
“It’s about Cassandra…” Rapunzel continued.  
“What about her?”  
“Well, the night of the Goodwill Festival… oh Eugene it was so sudden! I wasn’t thinking!”  
Eugene could barely hear her over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. “Blondie, what happened? Did she try to hurt you?”  
“No, Eugene. We… kissed.”  
His entire world ground to a halt. It felt like the birds quieted, the flowers wilted, and the sweet, summer breeze halted in the air.  
After a few seconds of devastating silence, all he could muster was “What?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Like, KISSED kissed?”  
“KISSED kissed.”  
Eugene shifted puzzle pieces around his head. Words, glances, gestures… where did this come from? How didn’t he see this coming?  
“How did this happen?” he asked, his head swimming.  
“We were drunk! We were hanging out in a field near the palace, and… and it just happened!” Rapunzel panted in panic. “I-I’m so sorry, Eugene! I promise it didn’t go any further than that…”  
He remembered holding Rapunzel’s stuffed chameleon all day at the festival for her. Holding her bag for her. Holding EVERYTHING for her. Doing EVERYTHING for her. Saving her LIFE time and again! Only for her to turn around and…  
Eugene wrenched his hand from hers and scooted his chair away from her. “After EVERYTHING she did? After EVERYTHING we’ve been through? Rapunzel, there’s forgiveness and then there’s… that!”  
“I’m sorry! I never, NEVER meant for it to happen! I promise! I love you so much, Eugene!”  
“How long was this going on for?” he asked, his voice somehow icy and white-hot with rage at the same time.  
“I-it was just a one-time thing!” Rapunzel sobbed.  
Eugene trembled. He got up and started walking away.  
“Eugene, please!” Rapunzel cried. “Can we please talk?”  
Eugene looked back over his shoulder at the crying princess. He twisted the ring around on his finger.  
“I-I need some time, Rapunzel. To think.”

…

“Hmmm, not sure how old these are,” said Lance, examining the basket of eggs on the counter. Another pleasant Saturday morning shone outside the window through the branches that cradled the Schnitz family treehouse. His newly adopted daughters sat at the kitchen table, Keira sipping on hot chocolate, Catalina on hot cider.  
“How long do we have before these go bad?” He handed an egg to Catalina.  
“These eggs will go off in…” Catalina sniffed it. “… five days.”  
“Sweet!” exclaimed Lance. “Pancakes it is!” He took the egg from Catalina and cracked it into a mixing bowl.  
“If you’re right again, I think that’ll be a record!” said Keira. “We’ll save one just to be sure.”  
Catalina smiled. Being a werewolf did have its advantages!  
Lance took the eggs and began mixing the batter, humming a cheery tune through his contented smile. _I love being a father!_  
A disheveled Eugene shuffled into the kitchen in his nightshirt.  
“Good morning!” Lance said in a sing-song voice.  
Eugene’s lip trembled as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a handful of sweets before disappearing back into Lance’s bedroom. Lance had offered Eugene his bed, but instead Eugene insisted on sleeping bag on the floor instead. Eugene spent many hours cocooned inside the bag, crying and eating various sweets.  
“Sooo…” asked Keira. “How long is he going to be staying here again?”  
“I-I’m uuuuhhh…” Lance stuttered. “I’m not sure, Angry. I’m letting him stay here… a few weeks?” Butter hissed in the pan as he poured the pancake batter in. The room filled with its mouthwatering scent.  
“And he isn’t in the palace right now because…?” asked Keira, eyebrow raised.  
“Don’t he and Rapunzel have a wedding to plan?” Catalina piped up.  
“W-well about that…” Lance smelled burning. Forgot to flip a pancake! He scraped it over and sighed at the pathetic sight of burnt batter. “You see… you see Eugene and Rapunzel are on a break.”  
The girls gasped. “They’ve BROKEN UP?!” shouted Keira.  
“Umm, not exactly. It’s complicated. Grown up problems,” Lance blurted. “Who wants pancakes?”  
Keira sighed and rolled her eyes. “Uh, we’re almost 13? I think we’re old enough to understand!”  
“Well… they’re taking some time to, uh, step back and… reassess. Oh no, I’ve already told you too much!”  
“Huh,” said Catalina. “That’s pretty weird. I wonder why?”  
_Cassandra and Rapunzel swapped spit and groped each other after the Goodwill Festival,_ Lance thought. _Can’t lie, that would NOT have been unpleasant to watch…_  
“Well,” said Catalina. “I did NOT see this coming.”  
Keira shrugged. “Grownups are weird.”  
_Neither did I, kid!_ Lance began serving pancakes to the children. _Well, maybe a little… Those two ladies did make goo-goo eyes at each other sometimes._  
Lance heard Eugene’s muffled sobbing from behind the door. He shook his head. _Poor guy!_  
He prepared a plate for Eugene. Pancakes with strawberries! _I’ll bring it in to him. Breakfast in bed! Well… sleeping bag hibernation burrow._  
Lance knocked on the door.  
“Eugene?” he called. “Is it okay if I come in?”  
“Sure,” came a muffled sniffle.  
Lance creaked open the door to a dark room, curtains drawn closed.  
He shook his head. _Poor Eugene!_  
He opened the curtains. Eugene moaned from his cocoon on the floor. Colorful candy wrappers and soaked handkerchiefs littered the floor around him.  
Lance kneeled in front of Eugene’s huddled form. “I made breakfast,” he said gently. “Would you like some, Buddy?”  
The sleeping bag nodded. Eugene, red eyed and disheveled, emerged. “I’m sure I look like a wreck. Ugly crying for days… not a good look!”  
He took the plate. “I just… I still can’t believe it,” he said between mouthfuls of pancake.  
“Neither can I!” Lance replied. “Buddy, I am SO sorry they did this to you. Her and Cassandra both!”  
“I-I should have known better, Lance!” blubbered Eugene. “What was I thinking? That this beautiful, amazing girl would want to be with me and only me for her entire life? ME? I’m an idiot, Lance-”  
“Whoa!” Lance interrupted. “Don’t talk about my best friend that way. You are NOT an idiot.”  
Eugene blew his nose on one of the many handkerchiefs. “If she was feeling unhappy… if she wanted to explore other options… why didn’t she just tell me? Maybe we could have worked something out…!”  
“I don’t know, Buddy,” said Lance. “But I DO know that this wasn’t your fault.”  
“Was I being unfair to her?” asked Eugene. “I mean, you know I got around before I met her… I’ve got exes in all the Seven Kingdoms. And here this wonderful girl is, and I’m her first love. How could I expect to be her ONLY love? The only one she ever…I’m a scumbag, Lance! A scumbag!”  
“Hey, I thought I told you not to talk about my friend that way!” said Lance. He took the empty plate from Eugene. “Would you like coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate.”  
“C-coffee would be nice.”  
“I’ll get right on that for you!” Lance answered. He gave Eugene a sympathetic, brotherly hug. Eugene cried on his shoulder.  
“Like I said, this wasn’t your fault,” whispered Lance. “You’re a good man. She went behind your back, and that was NOT okay. There wasn’t a SECOND of your relationship with the princess when I thought you weren’t doing your best.”  
He got up to get Eugene’s coffee. “I’ll take you on a walk later. Get you some fresh air. Puffy eyes be damned! If anyone judges you for feeling rough right now, they’ll have me to answer to.”  
“Th-thank you, Lance,” Eugene answered.  
Lance smiled. “It’s what brothers do!”  
…

“Cass- I told you, I don’t want your money.”  
The note, signed with a deep red kiss mark instead of Violet’s name, sat on the vanity next to the coins Cass kept trying to give her to cover half the hotel room. Cass sighed.  
She’d just come back from an early evening ride with Fidela. She figured it was a 50/50 chance Vi would even be there when she got back.  
Cassandra didn’t think it was possible for a person to have absolutely no discernible routine. Then she met Violet. In and out at all hours of the day and night, sometimes coming back with more money, sometimes with less, sleeping in 2-3 hour chunks at most, always prettied up before stepping foot out the door, practicing her flirtatious smile, never removing her choker even to bathe or sleep.  
Vi often returned from her outings smelling like some combination of tobacco, men’s cologne, and sweat. Feet blistered from her towering heels, knees bruised…  
Cass noticed she NEVER left the dented metal flask behind.  
_How does this woman function?_  
“What you’re doing, Violet… do you even want to be doing it?” Cass had asked an exhausted Violet the day before.  
“I don’t know, Cass,” Violet had shot back, rubbing her sore feet. “Did YOU want to be a lady in waiting? It’s a job.”  
Cass had no answer.  
Now, Cass lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Without the distraction of the bustling city, the moonstone shard in her arm drew her attention. Whatever ground up bark Vi had bought at the apothecary, it seemed to be working. Mostly. The pain was down to a dull, distracting ache instead of the piercing, debilitating burn from before.  
_I can’t believe I’m staying with some woman who picked me up at a tavern a few days ago… it’s been a strange week. Oh, and this thing where I found a magical artifact lodged in my body!_  
Cass frequently wandered around the town or paced in the woods, ideas swirling in her head about WHAT. TO. DO.  
_Should I tell Rapunzel about the moonstone shard? Do I really want to burden her with that? With me? While she’s planning a wedding? After what we…?_ She shook her head.  
_What if this is dangerous? What if it affects my mind somehow? What if I… lose it all over again? I feel fine, but am I really fine?_  
Cass looked over at her travel bag over the corner. _Should I leave? Should I go back to Corona? Can I even trust this… stranger I’ve been staying with?_  
The more she looked, the weirder Violet’s life got, like an optical illusion.  
Cassandra frowned. She could have sworn Violet said something kind of strange the night the tried to get rid of the shard, but… what was it? The booze fogged Cass’s memories of that evening.  
Just then, Violet limped in through the door holding her shoes in one tired hand. Her dress was rumpled, her hair in disarray.  
“Hey,” greeted Cass.  
Without a word, Vi dumped her shoes on the floor and curled up next to Cass on the bed. She snuggled close.  
“Hey, Vi?”  
Vi was already snoring.  
Cass felt cold metal in Violet’s hand. She was holding the flask like a child clinging to a teddy bear. It was open, and its last remaining drops of alcohol seeped into her clothes.  
Cass gently took the flask from Violet’s hand and put it on the bedside table.  
…

Cass awoke about two hours later to Vi muttering, “Oh SHIT, what time is it?”  
A brief pause. “Oh, FUCK!” Violet shouted.  
Vi shook Cass. “Hey, hey… wake up!”  
“Umm, already awake,” Cass said, annoyed.  
“I’ve got a john coming over in 10 minutes.”  
Cass sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “John?”  
She saw Vi on the other side of the room tearing through a dresser drawer.  
“John. Client. Customer. Person I fuck for money! God, you’re so sheltered!”  
Cass bristled and stood up. “I am not shel-!”  
“Red or black?” Violet held up two pieces of lingerie so scanty Cass couldn’t even tell what they were supposed to be.  
“Um, black? Vi, what do you mean he’s coming here?”  
“I mean I’ll need you to duck out for about an hour.” Vi ripped a comb through her hair. One of its teeth broke off in her curls. “Damn it!”  
Cass’s skin crawled at the idea of sharing bedsheet sweat and god knows what else with one of Violet’s clients.  
“You know… you really don’t have to do this…”  
Violet picked the broken comb out of her hair.. “Oh, here we go again! Cass, stop trying to be Captain Save-a-Harlot! Now if you’ll excuse me…” She wiped off her smeared lipstick and began to apply a fresh coat.  
“It’s just… isn’t all this really dangerous?” Cass said. “Are you sure you don’t want me outside the door? I have a sword and I’m literally indestructible.”  
Violet rolled her eyes. “No, full-on clear out of here! I don’t need protection, Cass. I’ve survived all this time without you or anyone else helping me! I mean, I love you and all, but…”  
All color drained from Violet’s face. She froze, lip brush still in hand. The women’s eyes met in the mirror.  
Cass’s mouth hung open. “Violet, did you just say…?”  
Vi slammed her lip brush down on the table. “Well! You better get going!”  
She steered Cass towards the door.  
“No, wait! What did you just-?”  
Violet slammed the door in Cass’s face.  
Cass looked down at her feet.  
“Vi! My shoes!” she yelled.  
The door cracked open and Cass’s boots were deposited outside the room.  
“What the HELL?” Cass grumbled as she tied her laces. She stomped away.  
…

Cass paced outside in the rain under a molding, leaky pergola across the street, fuming.  
_Of COURSE it would start raining as soon as I step outside! That’s just me, isn’t it? Disaster follows wherever I go!_  
She shivered in the merciless cold. Owl fluttered down and perched on her shoulder, soaked. He shook his feathers out, splashing even more water onto Cass’s face.  
“Well, great!” she muttered.  
Owl hooted an apology.  
Cass sighed. “What am I doing with my life, Owl? I strike out on my own in search of adventure, and here I am sucked into… god knows what this situation even is! Am I just… doomed? Am I never going to make a single good decision for the rest of my life?”  
“Hoo,” Owl replied.  
“You’re nice to talk to,” said Cass. She sat down on a lone rickety chair sitting against the wall. It immediately broke. Startled, Owl took off and flapped frantically around.  
Cass growled in frustration. _That’s it! I’m cursed!_  
The shard throbbed and pulsated. Whatever that stuff from the apothecary was, it was waring off. She winced and rubbed her arm. Sensing his owner’s discomfort, Owl settled back down on Cass’s shoulder and nuzzled her face. She smiled in spite of the pain.  
“I really need to leave,” she told him. “I’d leave right now if my stuff wasn’t in Violet’s room.”  
“Hoo!” Owl agreed.  
“I’m leaving tonight!” Cass decided. “As soon as I can…”  
She thought of Violet all alone up there right then… alone with some random brute. Probably in danger… so small and vulnerable…  
She frowned and rubbed her temple. _Great! I’m probably going to give myself a headache on top of this stupid shard pain… wait, what if the moonstone is acting up because Violet… gave me something?_ Her skin crawled with shame.  
“I’m an idiot,” she muttered. “A complete idiot.”  
_This crazy woman dropped the L bomb and we haven’t even known each other a week! Well, we’ve “known” each other, but do we REALLY know each other? She’s bad news! I need to get the hell out of here…_  
Suddenly, she felt guilty even thinking it. _But… she’s been so nice to me. To ME! A traitor! A venomous cobra! A terrible friend! The worst of the worst! I’m so… unlovable…_  
She felt grateful for the rain. Hopefully any passers by wouldn’t see the tears on her face. Well, they’d probably already think she was nuts anyway. She HAD been talking to an owl!  
Cass’s thoughts turned back to Violet. So vulnerable, so … alone. Up there. What if something happened? Cass’s hand went to the sword she almost always carried on her person…  
“Hey, Owl?” said Cass.  
“Hoo?”  
“Fly up to the room and peek through the window. Just see if she’s okay.”  
Owl flew off. Cass let out a sigh, her conscience feeling clearer than before.  
Mere moments later, Owl flew back, hooting in alarm.  
“Oh, no…”  
Cass rushed off, a tight grip on the handle of her sword, doing her best not to slip on the wet street.  
…

Cass arrived outside the door to the hotel room only to hear a scuffle going on inside. Muffled shouts. A crash.  
She tried the door. Locked.  
“Violet!” Cass called. She pounded on the door. “Are you okay?” She felt stupid as soon as the question left her lips. Of course she’s not okay! She got ready to ram the door.  
Suddenly, she heard a loud, sickening crack followed by a man shouting, “Argh! Crazy bitch!”  
Before she could say anything, the door burst open to reveal a man with his shirt open, a smudge of lipstick smeared on his mouth. He cradled a limp, swollen wrist. She recognized him as the red-faced man that had berated her and Violet over on Sun Street.  
The man noticed her. Their eyes locked for an awkward moment before he looked away in shame. He skulked off, cursing under his breath.  
Cass rushed into the room. The curtains were torn down off the window, a chair overturned. Violet’s heap of cosmetics had crashed all over the floor, bursting vials of red and white into the wood. A heap of blankets huddled against the far wall. Cass recognized Violet’s voice, sobbing.  
“Stay away!” Violet shouted, her voice shaking.  
Cass couldn’t quite place it, but something sounded… off? Deeper?  
“Vi, it’s me!” said Cass.  
“Is-is he gone?”  
“Yes!” Cass rushed over to her. “Are you hurt?”  
“I don’t think so.”  
Cass reached out a hand to remove the blanket, only to have Violet pulled it tighter around her. “Don’t look at me!” The blanket heaved with panicked, ragged breaths.  
“Okay,” Cass answered. “I won’t.”  
Something about Vi’s huddled form looked… strange? Not quite the shape of the girl Cass had been around so much over the past few days. She saw Violet’s body shift and shrink under the blanket.  
After a moment, Violet shed the crumpled covering. Her hair was wild and tangled, her eye makeup running in rivulets down her face, red lip color smeared roughly across her mouth and cheek. She wore ripped black lace, one protective hand over the left side of her neck, the other grasping her torn choker.  
“I’ve got THREE rules!” Violet growled. Her voice trembled with rage. “Three things I will NEVER negotiate on with customers. Don’t kiss me on the lips, don’t touch my neck, and NEVER take off my choker. That bastard broke all three in record time!”  
Cass moved in closer. “Vi…” She put a hesitant arm around Violet, who shuddered violently as she snuggled into Cass’s hug.  
Vi looked up at Cass. Wait, did her irises look… red? Vi spotted Cass’s baffled glance and immediately shut her eyes.  
_Definitely something supernatural going on here…_ thought Cass.  
“Cass…” she said. “There’s another choker in the drawer of the bedside table. Could you get that for me? And my flask too, please?”  
Cass got her what she asked. Vi shrugged the blanket back over herself and looked down intently, shaking hands trying to work the clasp on the necklace.  
Cass touched Violet’s shoulder. “Do you want some hel-?”  
“No!” Vi squeaked. After a moment, she managed to get the thick velvet ribbon around her neck. Cass felt the young woman’s body relax.  
Vi re-emerged from the blanket, neck covered once again. She opened the flask and tried to drink. Nothing came out.  
“No!” she yelled. Her entire being tensed in alarm. “Nonononono!”  
She broke from Cass and scrambled over to a loose floorboard. She yanked it up, splintering it. A bottle sat in the nook in the floor. She tipped the booze into her mouth, downing about a quarter of it in one gulp. She sighed with relief, her body slumping onto the floor.  
Cass stood for a moment, trying to process the scene she just witnessed. _It’s even worse than I thought, but…_  
She walked over to Violet and gently took the bottle from her hand.  
“Hey!” Violet protested. She jolted upright.  
“I think you’ve had enough,” replied Cass.  
“Okay. Fine,” Violet sulked. She shuffled over to the bed and flopped down onto it, shutting her tearful eyes.  
Cass put the bottle on top of the wardrobe, where she knew Vi couldn’t reach it. She sat down beside Vi and absentmindedly stroked the woman’s long, curly hair.  
_I should have been here for her…_ she thought. _I should have stopped her somehow. Something…_  
“You’re nice,” Violet whispered.  
“Hm?”  
“You’re nice,” Violet said again, louder. She looked up at Cass. Her eyes were blue again.  
Cass chuckled. “People have used plenty of words to describe me. ‘Nice’ usually isn’t one of them!”  
“But you are!” Violet smiled. “You’re nice and you’re brave and you’re selfless and just so… perfect!”  
Cass shifted uncomfortably. “I-I really don’t think so… nobody is perfect…”  
“Except for you!” Violet took the hand stroking her hair and kissed it. “You are the best person I have EVER met! By far!”  
“Th-that’s really kind of you to say, but-“  
“Best!” Vi interrupted, pulling Cass’s arm around her.  
“Uh, thanks.”  
Cass patted Violet’s head.  
_I’ll leave tomorrow…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> I did want to note that not every sex worker is a hot mess, like Violet is, but yeah... what can I say? I enjoy writing hot messes and train wreck relationships. Hot messes are relatable to me!  
> Cass putting the bottle atop the wardrobe is inspired by this one time a friend took my drink from my alcoholic self at a party and put it on top of the fridge. I was tall enough to grab it if he let me, as I'm 5'7", but I was quickly distracted by cats.  
> Anyway, thanks for the hits and kudos! I've been feeling VERY flattered and encouraged by them.  
> -Glow_Decay  
> EDIT 2/12/2021:  
>  It’s been pointed out to me a couple times that the timeline is a tad unclear, so until I go back and make some tweaks to the chapters themselves, I wanted to add a little clarification.  
> The redo of the Goodwill Festival happened a few days after the battle with Zhan Tiri, and a couple days after that Cass left.  
> A few days after Cass left, Rapunzel told Eugene about the kiss at the festival.  
> Eugene, needing some space, is now mostly staying with Lance and the girls, but still performs his duties as Captain of the Guard.  
> It is now about 3-4 months after the battle with Zhan Tiri.  
> May go back and change some things if it turns out something is not working, but that’s the story as it stands now.  
> Thank you to those who have given me feedback!


	12. Contagious

Varian sat at a piano in a seldom-used room in the palace. He hit a few keys. Definitely out of tune! Not surprising, he’d had to pull a dusty old cover off of it when he entered. He looked around. Some bookshelves lined the walls, emitting the pleasant smell of old books. A desk, a few chairs. Shame it hadn’t been touched in what must have been months! He wondered why the maids skipped this room. _What’s the point of having rooms you don’t even use? But hey, at least I can get away from everyone here…_  
Maybe this time he’d get left alone for all of half an hour! Rapunzel had had various friends and palace staff hovering around, surreptitiously checking on his whereabouts and reporting back every 20 or so minutes. Most of the time he made their job easy.  
 _“He’s exactly where he’s been for the last 14 hours, your majesty… sleeping.” Does Rapunzel honestly think I don’t know what she’s doing?_  
The dust that clung to everything in the room felt unpleasantly gritty on his fingers. Four days since the explosion in the palace and he still hadn’t gotten his gloves back! Eugene explained to him they needed to examine them as part of their investigation into the blast.  
 _Do they think I had ANYTHING do to with it? I bet if they let me in that basement again, I could figure this all out within an hour! But Eugene said, nobody in or out of there while they’re investigating… I bet they really just want to keep ME out!_ He sighed and played a familiar tune. He cringed. Sounded SO off! But better than being bored…  
“Onward we ride, who knows if we will make it back,” he half sang, half whispered. “I’m really bored, please just let me go home…”  
He wiped his fingers on his apron, from which servants had managed to remove the worst of the bloodstains. That dust! Ugh, the TEXTURE!  
“THIS is why I wear gloves,” he murmured. He longed for the comfort of their soft, leathery interior. Nothing too scratchy, gritty, squishy, slimy… he shuddered in disgust. “Just bring me my damn gloves…”  
He absent-mindedly picked at the blister on his finger, which had formed an angry scab from the repeated scratching over the past few days.  
 _These are the longest days of my life since prison!_ he thought. He could sense tension in the atmosphere. The way people whispered, then stopped when they saw him walking around the corner. The way people looked at him with either suspicion or pity, gave him a wide berth in the hallways. Varian took to sleeping through most of the day and sneaking around the palace at night, just to avoid everyone. At least Eugene hadn’t assigned anyone to constantly watch him since day one… still didn’t want him to leave, though. _Back to square one all over again! Back to Varian the traitor, Varian the freak! There’s something contagious about me… some kind of “wrongness…”_  
He went back to playing the piano, teeth gritted, hitting the keys harder this time. _I KNOW everyone’s hiding something from me! Does everyone think I’m stupid? Well, I kind of am, definitely am, but…_  
He looked down at the piano to see a few bloody fingerprints dotting the yellowed ivory keys. He looked at his finger to see that yes, he’d managed to scrape the scab off his blister again.   
His stomach turned. _Not again, Varian…_  
He started at the sound of the door cracking open.  
“Varian?” he heard his dad calling. “Are you in there?”  
Varian laid his arms across the blood-spattered keys, which out a discordant clang of notes.  
“O-one second!” He hurriedly rolled the creaky keyboard cover over the ivories.  
Quirin entered the room, carrying one of Varian’s pairs of gloves.  
“I stopped by the house today. I brought these for you!” said the father.  
Varian gave a relieved sigh.  
Quirin knew why. He could still see little Varian fussing with almost every shirt his parents got for him. Almost as soon as he could talk: _“No, it’s too scratchy!”_  
Ulla took the time to find the softest, (often most expensive,) clothes she could. In between her hours in the lab, she made some of them herself so she could place the seams JUST right.  
 _“Ulla, stop babying him!” I thought he was just being a brat…  
“Quirin, he’s just a child!” She was right… he was so, so little…_  
Neighborhood kids made mud pies. Young Varian squirmed if he touched anything squishy with bare hands.  
He recalled Varian’s bright, enthusiastic grin when Ulla presented him with his very first pair of gloves for his fourth birthday. Quirin never told anyone, but he kept that first pair put away in a drawer with one of Ulla’s old pairs…   
Quirin handed his son his spare gloves. As Varian took them, Quirin saw the raw spot where the blister used to be. Varian saw him looking and hurriedly covered his hands in the comforting leather.  
“Uh, th-thanks dad,” Varian stammered.  
“You’re welcome,” Quirin replied. _Should I ask?_  
“Have you…?” Quirin started. _… tried NOT doing that?_  
“Yes, Dad?”  
“Nothing.” With that, Quirin left.  
…

“Sorry I took so long to meet with you,” Rapunzel said. “These past few days have been… busy. And strange.”  
“I bet!” Heather looked around the room at Rapunzel’s impressive murals. The golden late afternoon sun lit up Rapunzel’s room, highlighting every brushstroke, every glorious color. She recognized some faces, some names. Eugene, Cassandra, Varian… she hadn’t met those last two yet. Not officially. Just saw them in passing a few times. Didn’t know if she even WANTED to meet Cassandra after… all that business a few months ago. _The princess may forgive her, but that doesn’t mean I have to!_  
“This place is absolutely beautiful!” Heather marveled.  
“Thank you!” Rapunzel beamed.  
“I’m surprised you wanted to meet me in here,” Heather gestured around the princess’s bedroom.  
“You’re my friend!” chirped Rapunzel. “You are WELCOME at the palace, as far as I’m concerned.”  
 _Friend? Okay… if you say so. I could get used to that,_ thought Heather.  
Rapunzel stepped outside onto the balcony. “Ahhh, glad to have some sunshine today! It’s been gloomy these past couple of days.”  
Heather stopped at the doorway, eyes glued to her feet, on the transition between the floor and the smooth white stone of the balcony outside.  
“Is something wrong?” Rapunzel asked Heather, a puzzled look on her face.  
Heather looked up, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face.  
“Oh, sorry…” she apologized. “It’s just that… I don’t do heights. I get, um…” _Terrified!_  
“… vertigo.” An image flashed in her mind. Her feet dangling as a brutal henchman held her off a cliff’s edge, over a deep ravine. _“Sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll leave, I promise!”_  
“That’s okay! You don’t have to apologize.” Rapunzel flashed Heather a reassuring smile and came back into the room. “We can talk in here.”  
The two women sat down in a couple of plush purple chairs. A lady in waiting brought in two cups of tea hand-painted with flowers.  
“Thank you!” chirped Rapunzel. The lady curtsied and left.  
“I don’t think you ever mentioned,” said Rapunzel. “What brought you to Corona? Do you have any family here?”  
“My family is… gone.”  
“Oh my…” Rapunzel’s brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Heather.”  
Heather shrugged unconvincingly. “Don’t be. It was years ago. About…” she thought for a moment. “…Seven. Ish. Anyway, I wanted to talk about those fliers that showed up a few days ago.”  
Rapunzel sighed. “Y-yes. It’s been bad. We gathered up as much of them as we could, but it was…just too late. That idea is out there now, and all the rumors that come with it.”  
Heather nodded.  
“But I heard you were able to calm things down for a bit at the meeting. That was good thinking!” the princess added.  
Heather stared at the floor. “I tried. It was just a stopgap though.”  
“You’re very modest! You did a good thing.”  
 _Good enough, maybe?_ thought Heather. “Princess… I think you did the right thing in turning those heaters off. Just for now, until things get figured out.”  
“I hope so.” Rapunzel frowned. “Sorry for the cold baths!” She tittered nervously.  
The two of them sipped their tea in silence for a moment, staring out at the town, at the light shining off the quaint half-timber houses.  
“How would you like to stay in the palace and help keep things calm here?” asked Rapunzel.  
Heather spit out her tea. “Wh-what?!” she sputtered. “Princess, you understand I’m just an amateur, right? I read lots of books and… well, that’s about it!”  
“Oh, you’d still hold weekly meetings at Monty’s, of course! Corona really needs those right now,” Rapunzel continued.  
“Princess, were you hearing me? I have no idea what I’m doing!”  
Rapunzel quieted. She put down her teacup. “I don’t know what I’m doing either…” she sighed. “I really don’t. I mean, I’m kind of queen since my parents aren’t fully recovered yet, but it’s not official. I… don’t think I’ve got this.”  
Heather threw Rapunzel a sympathetic look. “I think I can relate. Sort of.”  
Rapunzel gazed back, the beginnings of a sunset reflecting in her emerald eyes.  
“I-I mean, I’m no princess!” stammered Heather. “So o-of course I can’t totally relate. I mean, I’m just some random person, but…!”  
Rapunzel stopped her. “No, you’re not just ‘some random person,’ Heather! Nobody is. You matter!”  
“Th-thank you.”  
“Anyway,” said Rapunzel. “The actual main reason I want you here… it’s about our royal engineer…”  
“Varian? The one being accused of planting bombs under Corona?”  
“Yes. I’ve been having him stay in the palace, keeping an eye on him. He’s not well, and the whole medical wing just kind of… doesn’t get what’s wrong or how to help him. His dad got hurt and he had… some kind of episode? The staff in the medical wing doesn’t even have a name for it. And then, he tried…” Rapunzel hesitated. “…Tried to hurt himself.”  
Heather’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”  
“And now…” Worry darkened Rapunzel’s expression. “He sleeps all day. He barely eats. He won’t talk to anyone. When I DO manage to catch him awake, I can tell he’s been crying. I told him he can talk to me any time he wants to, that I’m here for him, but… it’s like he doesn’t even hear me. Do… do you think there’s anything you can do to help him?”  
“Well…” Heather’s heart pounded in her chest. _That sounds just like my mom! She’d stay like that for weeks sometimes…_ “I can try.”   
“Heather,” said Rapunzel, touching Heather’s shoulder. “You’ve got something that could really help people. I can feel it. YOU had the idea to start that support group. Nobody else!”  
Heather brightened a little. “Well, I mean, I got the idea from Professor Lencioni’s work! She’s really cutting edge… oh, I could talk for hours about it!”  
“Go ahead.”  
“Wh-what?”  
“Go ahead! I’d love to hear about what you’ve learned,” said Rapunzel, leaning forward in interest.  
 _Holy shit, she actually wants to listen to me! Actual, literal royalty gives a crap about what some formerly homeless peasant wants to say!_ “Well… like I was saying, her work is very cutting edge! It’s all rather experimental at this point, but a couple years ago she started a support group at her university for students to talk about their problems…”  
…

The next morning, Rapunzel sat down with her parents in one of the small, informal dining rooms. A tempting spread of eggs and pancakes lay before them, but they barely picked at it. A tense silence hung in the room like a noxious gas, killing their appetites.  
“So,” the queen started. “Rapunzel, what have you heard of Varian? I know he’s still here in the palace. How is he doing?”  
Rapunzel hesitated. “Not well, mom.” Eugene had agreed to encourage Varian to stay in the palace for a while, but Rapunzel escalated it from encouragement to order.  
“He’s just… really, REALLY not well. He’s not himself lately. He won’t talk to me about it. He refuses to talk to ANYONE about it. And now with these fliers…”  
“You haven’t told him about those, have you?” said Frederic, alarmed.  
“No,” answered Rapunzel. “I haven’t. It… it would break his heart. But the thing is, I can’t keep it from him forever! One of the servants or guards IS going to let something slip eventually.” Rapunzel took a sip of tea, her fingers trembling as she grasped the cup. “He was FURIOUS when he discovered those letters! And so hurt, too… I’m scared for him. But at the same time, I can’t just lie to him! It feels horrible!”  
“Do you think he’d be safe out there?” asked the Queen. She took a spoonful of sugar for her own tea. “From the riled-up citizens, or from…?”  
“Himself?” continued Rapunzel. The word felt dirty leaving her mouth… almost taboo to even think of what he might do left to his own devices outside the security of the castle walls… “No.”  
“So,” Arianna changed the subject. “The other night we agreed on what we are going to tell the citizens about the water heaters.”  
“We are going to tell the subjects that the machines are off for maintenance purposes,” stated Frederic.  
“Our subjects deserve the truth!” protested Rapunzel.  
“The machines are down for maintenance. That’s it,” said the king.  
“B-but that’s not true!”  
“Do you WANT a panic, Rapunzel?”   
“Well… no.”  
“Sweetie, I understand,” said Arianna. “You’re an honest person. One of the many reasons we love you so much! But sometimes we have to…”  
“…Omit certain things,” Frederic finished.  
The princess sighed. “Well, at least we told our subjects the fliers were untrue. For as much good as that did.”  
“You see, that was one instance where we could afford to be completely honest,” replied the king. “We don’t always have such a luxury.”  
“I don’t know if that proclamation demanding that the fliers all be turned in and destroyed really helped anything,” said Rapunzel. “For one thing, they’re still circulating. They’re out there now. We can’t stop it…”  
“We can if there’s a severe enough punishment for possessing one,” said Frederic.  
Arianna gasped. “Frederic!”  
“Well, what else can we do?” the king asked.  
“NOT that!” exclaimed Rapunzel.  
“If we do that,” Arianna said. “We will turn our own subjects against us! Frederic, we will NOT become tyrants!”  
“It’s not tyrannical! It’s necessary,” replied Frederic.  
“Doesn’t destroying them all make it look like we have something to hide?” asked Rapunzel, raising her voice. “Which we sort of do! We still have NO answers! Our people are not STUPID! This is the Black Rocks all over again…!” She practically jumped from her seat.  
Frederic stood up. “Rapunzel, that is ENOUGH! I am STILL your king!”  
Arianna joined in, shooting up from her chair. “Both of you, settle down! If we’re all at each other’s throats, NOTHING is going to get better!”  
The king and his daughter backed off. “You’re right, Mom,” Rapunzel answered. She sat back down and picked at her eggs, scooting them aimlessly around her plate.  
The king sat, embarrassed. He sighed wearily and drank his coffee. “I’m sorry, Rapunzel…Arianna. I should not have lost my temper. It’s… undignified.”  
The queen put a hand out to his. He squeezed it. “I’m sorry, too,” the queen said.  
“Yeah,” Rapunzel sighed. “Me too.”  
“We can’t let this… ‘Concerned Citizens of Corona’ or whatever they’re calling themselves get to our heads,” comforted Arianna. “We’re better than that!”  
“True,” the princess added. “That’s just giving them what they want…”  
Nigel poked his head into the room.  
“I’m sorry to interrupt, your majesties,” Nigel said. “But I think you should see this.”  
The royal family went out onto the balcony they always used for announcements addressing their subjects. A couple of guards in tow, just in case…  
Below them stood dozens of subjects, their expressions ranging from worry to rage. Rapunzel recognized them as citizens of Old Corona.  
 _Wow!_ thought Rapunzel. _All that’s missing is the torches and pitchforks!_  
Frederic cleared his throat. “What seems to be the trouble, my subjects?”  
“Where is Quirin? We haven’t seen him in days!” shouted one citizen, a tall, burly man.  
“I heard he died!” a young blonde woman piped up.  
“Died?!” exclaimed Rapunzel. “Where did you hear that? He’s alive!”  
“Prove it! Prove he’s alive! Bring him out!” spat a short older woman.  
“Now, that is no way to talk to your…!” Frederic started. Arianna stopped him with a tight squeeze on his shoulder.  
“Of course!” she said in her signature soothing tone. “I can understand why you’re afraid. We’ll bring him right out so you can see he’s all right!”  
“Find Quirin,” Arianna whispered to Nigel. “Please hurry!”  
“Yes, my Queen.” Nigel headed off.  
“While we’re at it…” an old man spoke up. “Why are the heaters off now? Are they dangerous? We can’t have any more tremors destroying our village! We’ve been through enough with those rocks!”   
A slight teenager with no lower legs sat in a wheelchair, mostly hidden from sight in the crowd, watching the tense interactions with large, concerned hazel eyes.  
“They are down so that we can perform maintenance…” the King stated.  
“Yeah, and who is doing that? That kid, Varian? He seems to be the only one who understands how they work anyway!” said the old man. “What if he’s hiding something from us, my King? We’re scared!”  
“Where is he?!” demanded the stout woman from before. “Bring him out too! We just want to talk…”  
“We should NOT do that,” Arianna muttered in Frederic’s ear.   
As if on cue, a bewildered Quirin walked out onto the balcony.  
“You’re alive!” said the young blonde woman.  
“Yes, I am!” said Quirin. “What is this about?”  
“We heard you were hurt!” the teenager in the wheelchair piped up. “Are you okay?”   
Quirin squinted at the crowd, trying to find the source of the voice. “Yes, I was hurt, but I’m doing much better now. Who said that?”  
The teenager sighed and rolled their way through the group. “Excuse me, excuse me…”  
“I did, Sir!” they announced. “We’re glad you’re doing all right…”  
“Where were you?!” interrupted the stout woman, leaning against the teen’s wheelchair.  
“Um, excuse me?” they said to her. “I was talking…”  
“Why have you been hiding?! Where’s Varian?! What did he do to you?!” the woman bellowed rapid fire questions, ignoring the teenager. They slowly wheeled their chair away. The woman almost fell over, flustered. A few people in the group giggled.  
“I apologize!” said Quirin. “I should have been more communicative with all of you! I’ve been very preoccupied! My son is… sick.”  
“I’ll say he’s sick all right!” shouted the blonde woman. Suppressed laughter rippled throughout the crowd.   
“That’s not funny!” The wheelchair user glared at the blonde.  
“Thank you, Lark!” Quirin said.   
Lark nodded. “You’re welcome, Sir!”  
Lark’s father, a tall, thin man with wavy hair, stepped forward. “I apologize for everyone’s behavior today, Quirin! They’re just scared. They aren’t thinking straight!”  
“I understand, Julius,” Quirin replied. “Things have been very strange lately…”  
“What about the fliers, Sir?” asked Julius. “What is happening with those?”  
“Well, I can assure you they are completely unfounded!” replied Quirin. “My son is NOT planning to blow up Corona!”  
“But…but…!” the short woman sputtered.  
“You heard what I said!” He gestured to the crowd. “Please, go about your days! I’m sure there’s much work to be done.”  
“Y-yes, Sir…” the woman stammered.  
The murmuring crowd began to recede.  
The group on the balcony breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Whew… that was close!” said Rapunzel.  
Nigel nodded.  
Quirin sighed and rubbed his sore head. “Very…”  
“We handled it… well, you handled it, though.” Rapunzel smiled at the man.  
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Quirin bowed slightly.   
Arianna and Frederic looked out where the crowd had been, brows furrowed in worry.  
“This is going to get worse before it gets better,” said the queen. “But we’ve fought far worse foes before.”  
Frederic hugged her. “That we have, Love.”  
…

The sign creaked in the wind outside of Monty’s again. Heather lay in her bed above the shop, bleary eyes staring at the clock.  
 _Sleep… go to sleep… maybe if I fall asleep right now I’ll get a couple hours in before the coach arrives tomorrow to move me into the castle…_  
She sighed and sat up.  
 _Can’t sleep, might as well pack!_  
She stretched and yawned. Her joints crackled.   
_I’m only 24… are they supposed to be making that much noise? Are my bones going to sound like gravel on a tin roof by the time I’m 30?_  
Heather sighed. _This is what years on and off the streets does to you…_  
She shuffled over to the small wardrobe on the other side of the room and opened it, admiring her modest collection of simple shirts, skirts, and pants.  
She smiled and drew her hands across them. Actual clean clothes! Even after months of having a roof over her head, they still felt like a luxury. She put a shirt to her face and breathed in the scent of fresh cotton. So many things people take for granted…  
 _“Sorry for the cold baths,” Rapunzel said. Ha! I’m still grateful for ANY bath! Does the princess know just how good she has it?_  
She got out her old bag, as well as a few new suitcases she’d bought that day, and started packing. She paused to admire her SHOES that ACTUALLY FIT and didn’t have the SOLES COMING OFF!  
 _That’s right, I’m going to live in a goddamn palace tomorrow! I’ve gone from homeless to having a roof over my head to… kind of a tall order. From royalty!_  
Unease churned in the pit of her stomach.  
 _I can’t just magically fix this kid’s problems, whatever they are. There isn’t a sundrop flower for the mind! I’m bound to disappoint the princess… disappoint everyone._  
She sighed.  
 _This whole arrangement is too good to be true… or at least too good to last. Nothing good ever lasts…_  
Heather looked into her old sack full of books. It still smelled like the dust of the streets she slept on for years. _Ah, my reliable old friends!_  
She remembered sitting on her mother’s lap, listening to that soothing voice telling her fairytales, which soon graduated to novels read a chapter at a time before bed. Stories about palaces, rogues, adventurers… the Flynn Rider books were a personal favorite! She reached into the back and pulled out a worn, water stained hardcover. First one in the Adventures of Flynn Rider series!  
Heather opened the cover to see her mother’s loopy cursive handwriting.   
_My Dearest Heather, life is an adventure! Happy Birthday from Mommy!_  
She traced her fingers over every letter, feeling every indent of pen on paper. It wasn’t the same as having her back, but to see evidence of her existence, to feel her mother’s tangible mark on the world, to know she mattered to someone…  
Heather reached into a small pocket sewn into the inside of the bag, practically invisible if you didn’t know where to look. She pulled out a piece of paper folded neatly around a medallion formed out of strange, swirling shapes.  
Heather opened in and read the same words she’d read a million times before over the past seven years.  
 _To my daughters:  
I’m so sorry, but I just can’t go on like this. You will both be better off without me, I promise. Please, watch over each other. You will do a better job than I ever could. I know I was never there for you enough, and for that I apologize.  
Before I go, I need to tell you both that your father is…_  
Th letter trailed off in an unintelligible scribble of ink ending in a long, messy swipe from a quill scraping the paper on its way to the floor.  
Heather turned the medallion over and over in her hand as she read.  
 _Some day, I’ll know what this thing is,_ she thought. _And some day, I’ll know who my dad really was… and where he is._  
“I promise, Mom,” she whispered. “I’ll figure out what you were trying to tell us.”  
With that, she gingerly folded the paper around the medallion and placed them back in the compartment, her nightly ritual complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> As of the time I'm writing this, I've got 40 kudos, which feels great! Thank you!  
> Anyway, I have gone back and added a few lines of description to previous chapters so they better line up with some ideas I introduced in this one.  
> Soooo if something seems inconsistent, it may be because you read this chapter before I'd gone back and tweaked a couple details. Just FYI!  
> -Glow_Decay


	13. This Is Crazy!

“Just hold still a little bit longer, Pascal!” said Rapunzel.  
Her chameleon stood on her desk posed with a paintbrush, a mini beret on his head.  
The princess giggled as she painted her friend. “This is going to look ADORABLE!” she squeaked.  
The princess heard a knock at the door to her room.  
“Yes?” she called out.  
Eugene marched in and shut the door.  
“Rapunzel, we need to talk,” he said curtly.  
Rapunzel looked up. “Sure, what is it about?”  
“I think you already know what this is about,” Eugene answered through clenched teeth.  
Rapunzel laughed nervously and fidgeted in her seat. “Ah, yes! Um, yeah I promise I was going to tell you…” She turned to her pet. “Oh, you can relax now, Pascal! We’ll finish later.”  
Pascal nodded and dropped the brush.  
“You MOVED SOMEONE into the castle without consulting me, your CAPTAIN OF THE GAURD, during the biggest security crisis since Zhan Tiri!” Eugene paced, running his fingers through his hair. “Blondie… Princess… do you SEE why this might be a problem?”  
Eugene stopped to check himself in a nearby mirror. _Was that… a wrinkle?! Ugh, this stress is aging me tenfold!_  
“Yes, but-“ Rapunzel’s face reddened.  
“We had an ANGRY MOB show up the other day, CLEARLY out for Varian’s blood, and you invite a near-stranger to come LIVE WITH US? This is CRAZY, Rapunzel!”  
“Actually, Heather and I are friends, AND I’m actually doing this to help Varian, because-“  
Eugene threw up his hands in frustration.  
“It’s not even just that you did this, it’s that you went behind my back. It’s the DISHONESTY that really gets me, Rapunzel! How am I supposed to do my job if you don’t give me all the information I need to work?”  
The Princess stood up. “Well, if you would just LET ME EXPLAIN!”  
A soft knock came at the door. “Hello?” called a polite voice. It was Heather.  
“Come in!” greeted Rapunzel.  
The redhead peeked her face in. Her eyes widened as she saw the pair red faced and furious, glaring at each other. “Um, if it’s a bad time, I can ask someone else…”  
“No, no! Stay! I think you should hear this conversation,” said Eugene, his voice taking on a sarcastic pleasantness. “After all, the Princess wants to be completely transparent to ALL the people directly affected by her decisions!”  
“Oh, it’s fine, Heather, you can go,” said Rapunzel.  
“O-okay.” Heather slowly started to close the door.  
“No, by all means! Come on in!” huffed Eugene.  
Heather froze. “Um, all right…” She edged her way into the room.  
“Actually, Heather, you can go,” Rapunzel corrected. “You don’t have to be here for this…”  
“Well, in that case, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Heather answered. She made a step towards the door.  
“Go ahead and stay!” said Eugene. “Like I said, the Princess is A-OKAY with people being a part of decisions that personally affect them!”  
“Ummm…” Heather turned back around to face them.  
“Eugene!” Rapunzel hissed. She turned to Heather and went back to her usual sweet voice. “Heather, it’s all right. You can go!”  
“But Rapunzel,” said Eugene. “I think our guest deserves complete honesty!”  
“Yes, she does, but-!”  
“And SO DID I!” Eugene shouted.  
Pascal squeaked and scurried to hide under a sketchbook.  
“Eugene, I can’t be PERFECT all the time! I made an honest mistake!” Rapunzel shot back.  
“Ha! And what would YOU know about honesty?”  
“Clearly, this is a bad time…” Heather interjected.  
Rapunzel rubbed her temples. She sighed. “I… I’m sorry, Heather. What was it that you needed to ask?”  
“Where is the nearest bathroom?” Heather asked meekly.  
Rapunzel sighed. “Down the hallway, last door on the left.”  
“R-right.” Heather backed out of the room, shutting the door after her.  
The princess turned to Eugene. “Look, I understand why you’re angry. I should have talked with you first, and for that I’m sorry-“  
“As you should be!” the captain interrupted.  
“-but PLEASE let me explain!”  
The concern in her eyes disarmed Eugene, and he fumbled in embarrassment at losing his temper. _I miss when we talked more… I miss when I could trust you._  
“Okay, Rapunzel, please do. I… I’m sorry to. For yelling.”  
Rapunzel nodded. “I accept your apology. And… I understand. You were right. I should have talked this over with you first.”  
The two exchanged a sheepish smile before Rapunzel cleared her throat.  
“Anyway, so the main reason I asked Heather to come stay in the castle is…”  
…

Heather unpacked her things on the plush, plum bedspread. Her new room looked modest by royal standards, but warm and welcoming with mahogany wood and splashes of purple. The smell of woody, floral potpourri enveloped the entire room. A large, wide window overlooked the castle gardens.  
By far, Heather’s favorite thing was the bookshelf covered in vines, flowers, and birds, just waiting for Heather’s collection of volumes!  
She smiled. _This must be one of the Princess’s projects. How sweet!_  
_Almost makes me forget I witnessed the Princess and Captain of the Guard losing their shit at each other today… they’re engaged, aren’t they?_  
She started putting her books away, giving “Matters of the Mind” a place of honor on the top shelf.  
_Well, what makes me think a royal couple would be different to any other? Couples fight…_  
Heather remembered peeking out a cracked door as a little girl, awakened by the angry shouts her thin walls failed to muffle. She shielded her body with her favorite Flynn Rider book, her thumb planted in her mouth.  
_“Are you KIDDING ME? You would put your entire family in danger for WHAT? Your ideals? Your stupid political theories?”_  
_“Have some goddamn respect, Rosie! Some things are bigger than us…”_  
_“You’re right, Zechariah! Some things ARE bigger than us. This family… our girls! They’re more important than your stupid cult!”_  
_“It is NOT a cult! It’s a movement!”_  
_“I don’t know who you are anymore, Zeke…”_  
Then one night, Dad wasn’t there… just Mom. Sobbing in a half empty bed.  
Heather tiptoed into her parents’ bedroom. Mom’s shaking form faced away from her. Her gnarled mess of red hair spilled onto the pillow behind her.  
_“Mama?”_  
Mom turned to look at her. The crack of light from the door spilled across her haunted, bloodshot eyes.  
_“Can I cuddle with you?”_ asked Heather.  
_“O-of course, baby…”_  
Heather curled up into Mother’s firm, silent hug. She felt tears splashing her nightgown. Mother smelled… off. Her breath strangely sour. Daddy smelled like that a lot…  
_“Mom?”_ she asked. _“Are you okay?”_  
Mother smiled weakly.  
_“Mommy’s fine, Heather… I’m just… so happy you’re here. That’s all.”_  
…

Cass arrived back from a morning apothecary run to Violet pouring her flask another helping of alcohol from a cheap, bottom-shelf bottle. The other bottle Cass had placed on top of the wardrobe still sat there mockingly. Violet faced away from Cass, applying her makeup in the vanity mirror, clad only in her stockings and undergarments.  
Cass shook her head. _Should have figured she’d have them stashed all over this room…_  
Her father had had to dismiss more than one guard over the years for favoring the bottle over their duties. Though too young to understand at the time, Cass now knew how to recognize a sign or two. An empty bottle here, a missed shift there, a sickly-sweet smell hovering around their person…  
She silently chastised herself for not seeing the same in Violet.  
Cass placed the bag of medicine on the dresser, rubbing her tired eyes. Even WITH medicine, the steady ache in her arm, radiating to her whole body, kept her awake most of the night. She hadn’t this much constant physical pain since Rapunzel practically burned her hand off during that Great Tree debacle! At least when she’d brought Cass back to life following Zhan Tiri’s assault on Corona, the hand had healed along with everything else. Well, healed the physical injuries, at least…  
Vi didn’t sleep well either. Sometimes the two mutely faced each other on the bed, locking bleary eyes, hands intertwined beneath the covers in Violet’s signature bone-crunching grasp.  
They conversed wordlessly, the swollen, waxing moon lighting their slumberless night through the window.  
_“I can’t sleep,”_ Violet’s deep blue stare said.  
_“Me either,”_ Cass answered through nothing but a sigh.  
_“I’m sick,”_ Cass knew Violet would never say out loud.  
_“Me too.”_  
_“I’m an outsider!”_  
_“Me too!”_  
Once Violet felt Cass’s gaze on her, she cleared her throat and put the bottle and flask away in the vanity’s drawer. Vi fixed a smile on her half-painted lips before turning to face the short-haired woman.  
“Hey, babe!” Violet crooned.  
“Hey to you too.” Cass half-smiled. Violet seemed “on” and flirting most of the time, with just about anyone who crossed her path. Always ready with a wink, an eyelash flutter, a flip of her ruffled skirt, some suggestive banter…  
She may have slunk her way off of that piano the night they met, but part of her never left it.  
Yet there was this unnamable SOMETHING she reserved just for Cass. Something Cass could not quite place, but it made her feel like a cat curled up next to a roaring fireplace on a cold day. But best not get too close…  
Cass realized she didn’t entirely loathe Violet’s premature declaration of love the night before, nor that barrage of impossible compliments. So intoxicating, that rapt adoration!  
_Yes, she’s putting me on a pedestal,_ Cass mused. _But damn, that’s one nice-ass pedestal! Not since Raps has somebody been so…_  
Vi returned to her makeup. She hummed a tune Cass couldn’t quite place. Oh wait… it was that raunchy song she’d been singing the night they met.  
_Last night was bizarre!_ Cass reminded herself. _I should ask her about… I NEED to ask her about…_  
Vi sprinkled some kind of shimmering powder on her shoulders. A smell like Attila’s bakery drifted into Cass’s nose. The scented, sparkling dust on Violet’s pale skin made her want to take a nibble...  
_She’s probably some kind of supernatural being that could LITERALLY kill me if I didn’t have this moonstone bullshit going on…_  
Those black panties framed the curves of her round rump so beautifully, squeezing the pale flesh just so… something about the patch of bare skin between her stockings and underwear heated Cass’s cheeks and sped up her heart.  
_God, I know she’s crazy, I know this is crazy, but…_  
Cass came up from behind and put a gentle, but probing hand around Violet’s cinched waist, eliciting a small giggle.  
“Going out again?” Cass murmured into Violet’s perfumed hair. Her other hand skimmed the top of the woman’s armor-like corset. Violet shivered as Cass’s fingers trailed across her breasts.  
She planted a lingering kiss on Cass’s mouth. She sighed.  
“Yeah. I have to.”  
Cass couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little at the conversation sure to follow if she said what was on her mind.  
_“Violet, you don’t have to.”  
“Don’t tell me what to do! I don’t need rescuing! Something something Captain Save-a-Harlot something something I can take care of myself…”  
“And yet last night I had to save your ass! Go figure!”_  
Cass frowned. _Wait a minute, I didn’t actually have to… she took care of that guy herself._  
She suffered a pang of uselessness. She pulled Vi a little closer.  
Cass noticed a pair of flashing purple jewels adorning Violet’s ears.  
She raised an eyebrow and touched one of the earrings.  
“Those are real amethyst, aren’t they?” Cass asked. “I’ve hung out with rich people enough to know a real jewel when I see it!”  
Vi smiled. “Sure are! Used to have a wealthy old man here in town who payed me pretty well. He gave me these! And to think all I had to do was snuggle with the old geezer and let him call me by his dead wife’s name.”  
“Uh… interesting,” replied Cass. “Can WE snuggle?” _And maybe not talk about random old men?_  
Vi gave her another smooch.  
“I want to… I really, really want to, but…” she patted Cass’s cheek. “I’m on a mission!”  
“Ummm…Violet?” Cass began hesitantly.  
“Yes?” Vi stopped everything to give Cass her signature intense stare.  
“I think we should talk about what happened last night. And about what you said…”  
Vi opened her mouth to speak, then closed it before arranging her face in nonchalant expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugged.  
_Bullshit!_ thought Cass. “Violet, I think you-“  
The woman cut her off with a fierce, lingering kiss on the mouth. Vi had to stand on her tiptoes and pull Cass’s face down to hers every time she wanted to kiss her when the pair was standing up. Cass gave out a small cry of surprise.  
_Well, should I be surprised? Of course she’d rather kiss than talk…_ A tingling heat spread through Cass, almost eclipsing her pain entirely. Her calloused hands wandered over Violet’s curves, rough embracing soft. _And honestly, so would I…_  
She shivered in pleasure as Violet’s teeth grazed her earlobe.  
_Oh my god fuck it, we’ll talk later…_  
…

Cass examined her neck in the vanity mirror.  
Violet had peppered it with deep purple hickies and reddish marks where her teeth nipped aggressively. They trailed down to a few small bites on Cass’s pert, pale breasts.  
Cass frowned. Strange. The other night none of Cass’s weapons had left so much as a bruise, but apparently Vi’s teeth could mark her up pretty well. Cass doubted she could break the skin, but Vi sure could leave some conspicuous love bites!  
_Magic is fucking weird!_  
Their hookup had been a little more… perfunctory than usual. Wham, bam, thank you Cass, before Violet was up, dressed, and off on her mysterious errand! But damn… that woman could get a lot done in just a few minutes.  
_Well, guess that’s the kind of skill one gets when people are paying you by the hour… or half hour… hell, maybe minutes! I have no idea how much she charges whom for what for how long._  
Cass rubbed her sore arm. Her skin still felt supple and normal, with her battle-hardened muscles rippling underneath. Not like the cold, unyielding black rock armor that had encased her during her power-mad months with Zhan Tiri.  
And yet… she was anything but normal now. And this pain! This unwelcome guest that burst into her life, screaming her greatest failures at her every second of every day. THAT was anything but normal. It was NOT going to be her normal.  
It faded with medicine and distraction… mostly. Briefly.  
Cass had a refined palate for pain at this point. She felt like she knew every texture, every subtle variation in flavor. A connoisseur who’d only ever tasted things she hated.  
_Ah, yes! My mother leaving me… rough, gritty mouthfeel with a hint of salty child tears. Sour aftertaste that comes and goes for over 20 years.  
Rapunzel overshadowing me: bitter. Stinging. Like holding a nettle on your tongue.  
Unrequited love for Rapunzel: bittersweet. Like black coffee with the barest hint of cinnamon.  
Shame at all the destruction I caused… now that’s the bitterest one of all._  
A sudden twinge made Cass cry out. _Does this pebble respond to my emotions, maybe? Maybe I need to make myself happy if I want it to stop hurting?_  
“Is that what you want, you filthy little parasite?” she grumbled to it.  
It twinkled.  
_So wait… if it’s always hurting, does that mean I’m actually NEVER happy? Even three knuckles deep in a gorgeous woman?_  
Cass sighed. She could think of another gorgeous woman she’d like to be three knuckles deep in, but… no. Rapunzel was strictly off limits. Always had been. Always would be.  
_NO! Bad Cass! Don’t even think about it!_  
Cass inhaled sharply through her teeth as another stinging jolt made her see stars.  
She turned to the apothecary bag sitting on the dresser. She’d purchased a smattering of pain medications, just to see if anything worked better than that fairly mild bark, which she learned came from a type of willow.  
“I’d go to a doctor,” Cass muttered to herself. “but what would I even say? Hey Doc, I’ve got a piece of a celestial relic here that’s a royal pain in the ass! What can we do? And he’d just say, ‘Ummm, have you tried leeches about it?’”  
Cass let out a bitter, defeated guffaw. “My life is just one absurdity after another!”  
Removing the carefully wrapped herbs, barks, and powders from the bag, she sifted around for the scrap of paper where she’d jotted down the dosages.  
Gone!  
She cursed hoarsely under her breath. Steadying herself, she shuffled around the room, searching the floor for… ah! There were her clothes! She turned every pocket inside out, opened the small blue bag she kept on her belt.  
Nothing.  
“Oh, don’t tell me I…” she grumbled. She continued her search.  
After several minutes of tearing up the room, she accepted there was no paper to be found.  
She whimpered, close to tears.  
_Fuck it! I need to take something! Anything!_  
She frowned at the spread of various medicines, head throbbing and dizzy. Did she even remember which was which? Or what would do what? Her hand hovered over one, then another.  
_I’m seriously gambling here…_  
She closed her eyes and picked one, yet another brownish powder.  
_If this works, I’ll just go back to the apothecary and ask them to remind me what the hell this is!_  
“Well…” she funneled some of the bitter powder into her mouth using the paper it came wrapped in. She gagged and coughed on the dry substance.  
_Damn, should have gotten a cup of water or something! Stupid, Cass!_  
With much effort, she finally swallowed it, trying not to gag again at the nasty, biting aftertaste.  
After desperately washing her mouth out in the bathroom sink, she sighed and sat down on the bed with a quill and her long-neglected journal.  
She hadn’t written a thing in it before Vardaros.  
Cass never bothered with that sentimental “Dear Diary” crap. Simple date at the top, some perfunctory sentences for documentation purposes, and that was it.  
_September 12th:  
Staying with woman named Violet for about a week now. Discovered moonstone shard in arm. Very painful. Trying out different things to minimize…_  
She trailed off, her head nodding, her limbs heavy. A pleasant wooziness stuffed her head with cotton-wool as her eyes struggled to focus.  
_… discomfort._  
She put down the quill. The room spun, but she didn’t mind the accompanying giddiness. It reminded her of one a makeshift centrifuge ride Varian hastily constructed for the Goodwill Festival. The one Rapunzel insisted they go on again and again. It was fun the first time, nauseating the umpteenth…  
_Hope I don’t puke…_  
Cass swayed as she struggled to remain seated.  
_Oh shit, that’s a little stro-_  
Cass passed out, grateful to already be on the bed.  
…

Cass awoke to Vi jostling her. The woman vibrated with excitement, high heels drumming on the floor.  
“Cass! Cass! Cassie Cass Cass!” Vi squeaked.  
“The fuck…?” Cass groaned. She groggily righted herself.  
Vi grabbed her hands. “I got something I want to show you!”  
Cass saw pitch black night outside.  
_Wow! That shit really WAS too strong. Striking that off my list of possible meds… or maybe I’ll keep it around for when I can’t sleep._  
“C’mon, c’mon!” Violet chirped, bringing Cass to her feet. Cass’s stomach gave an exaggerated lurch in response.  
“Vi, let me at least put on some clothes first!”  
“Oh… right,” Vi said, blushing.  
_Oddly bashful reaction for a woman who spends much of her time naked!_ thought Cass.  
The short-haired woman narrowed her eyes. She detected a hint of… nervousness? Apprehension? Violet’s grin almost masked it, but not quite.  
“Violet, what is this all about?” asked Cass.  
“Oh, you’ll see! It’s awesome!” She started drumming her feet on the floor again. The downstairs neighbors had to hate that!  
As soon as Cass threw on some clothes, Vi whisked her out the door.  
She scurried down the stairs, dragging Cass by her hand. Cass never ceased to be amazed that the young woman could walk, much less run, in those stilts she called shoes!  
She’d never understand Violet’s apparent love of restrictive clothing. She almost grew to average height every time she climbed up on those towering heels, and she tight-laced her corset like the trendiest aristocrat. (Or, at least she laced as tight as her far cheaper corset strings would allow without breaking. They were often frayed, barely clinging to life.) Cass supposed such “enhancements” were tricks of Violet’s trade.  
Rapunzel had given up on corsets and shoes after two or three tries, joining Cass as the only other woman in the castle who forewent corsets. She instead opted, when badgered into it, for something akin to the gentler training stays young girls wore. (Cass generally experimented with different types of binding just to keep her pesky breasts from interfering with combat.) Cassandra smiled to herself, recalling how her bond with the princess strengthened with their mutual decision to buck this particular social norm. And at the memory of watching Rapunzel’s lithe body move free and unrestricted under her dress as she did cartwheels in the palace garden…  
Vi let out a squeal of excitement as she pulled Cass over to the front door.  
A bored clerk sat at the hotel’s shabby front desk, an expression of “same shit, different day” permanently etched on their tired face.  
“Okay, okay!” chirped Vi. “Cover your eyes, Cassie!”  
Cass smirked and covered her eyes, humoring her. She hated the nickname “Cassie,” but she decided then and there that Vi could join the VERY limited ranks of people allowed to use it.  
Violet tugged Cass outside, forgetting to shut the door behind them. She uncovered Cass’s eyes.  
“Taa-daa!” Violet announced, complete with jazz hands. “What do you think of our new ride?”  
_Our…?_ Cass’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, Violet…”  
A large, handsome caravan loomed in front of them. Its deep red paint job looked a little flaked, but still appealing. Its curved design boasted flourishes of swirled carvings.  
“I know, right?” Violet beamed. “No more roughing it for us! And no more shabby hotel rooms!”  
_US?!_ “Vi, are you even allowed to have this parked out here?”  
“And we can go anywhere we want, any time we want!” She lead Cass towards the front door of the vehicle before making a motion to ascend its step. “You just go get Fidela, we hitch her up, and it’s next stop: anywhere!”  
Violet released a romantic, theatrical sigh at the thought. “Lets take a look at the interior. You’ll love it! Cozy, but roomy!”  
Cass noticed a conspicuous lack of flashy purple on Violet’s ears. “Wait, where are your earrings?”  
“What do you think of the paint job?” Violet dodged.  
“We need to talk! I don’t think we’re on the same page here. About what you said the other night-“  
“I’m more into purple myself, but the red is nice-”  
“Violet!” Cass firmly grasped the woman’s shoulders and spun her around to look her in the eye. “Did you drop all your money on this thing?”  
Violet gulped, her eyes wide. “I-I..” Her face suddenly flushed with a mixture of rage and embarrassment. “I was trying to do something nice for you! For us!”  
“Vi, you can’t just go doing things like this!” Cass shouted. “This is crazy!”  
A tense silence fell over the pair. Violet growled and stepped back, her eyes flickering red. Cass’s blood pumped, her muscles tensed, alarm bells shrieked in her head as she remembered she’d gone out here completely weaponless…  
“Crazy?” Violet retorted, her voice low and livid. Suddenly, she gave a barking shout. “CRAZY?!”  
The corseted woman clomped her way onto the caravan step. “You can call me a bitch…”  
She threw open the door with a dramatic flourish. Its hinges whined in protest.  
“… You can call me a whore…”  
She stepped inside before spinning around to face Cass.  
“But don’t you ever! EVER! Call me crazy!” With that, Violet slammed the door shut, glaring at Cass as she did so.  
Cass’s rage flared! She clambered up and pounded futilely on the door.  
“Violet, I have literally never called you ANY OF THOSE THINGS!”  
Silence.  
“I said THIS is crazy!”  
A muffled “harrumph” from inside.  
“This whole thing!” she added weakly.  
The sound of furniture being tossed. An inhuman roar from the woman inside.  
“Fine, be that way!” Cass yelled.  
She stomped her way back into the hotel, through the lobby, and back into her room.  
The bored clerk stood up with a weary sigh. “They always forget to close the damn door…”

…

Cass packed her bags in a furious whirl, tearing around the hotel room. Owl sat perched at the open windowsill, head tilted to one side.  
“That’s IT!” yelled Cass. “That is fucking IT! I’m leaving!”  
Owl shot her a skeptical look.  
“I mean it this time!” Cass proclaimed.  
“Hoo,” Owl answered. It sounded like nocturnal avian for _“Yeah, suuuure…”_  
She opened drawer after drawer. “FUCK, where are my damn socks?” Cass had packed spartanly, with only two pairs of socks, two sets of clothes, and an armory’s worth of weapons.  
The last drawer refused to budge. “God DAMN it!” She tugged hard on the handle, only to have it come off in her hand. Cass chucked the round knob to the floor.  
With a frustrated roar, she finally managed to pry the drawer open, releasing a flurry of Violet’s stockings as she wrested it from its hinges. A half empty bottle of alcohol also clunked to the floor and rolled away.  
Cass growled. “More of her stash, I see!”  
She rolled her eyes and sifted through the pile, hoping to gods that her other pair of socks lay somewhere in the heap of fabric. Cass’s hand brushed a folded piece of parchment lying somewhere in the heap of tangled fabric.  
She pulled it out. It was worn around its edges and stained with what maybe was scotch. At least, it smelled like scotch. She opened it.  
_My old wanted poster?_  
Cass’s own scowling mug looked back at her. Scarlet smooch marks peppered her the poster.  
“What the HELL?” Cass rose to her feet, ripping the poster to shreds in an orgy of rage as she did so. She stomped on the torn pieces for good measure.  
_How could ANYONE love THAT? That THING I became? How the fuck can she romanticize that?_  
“Hoot!” exclaimed Owl from behind her. _“Are you done yet, Cass?”_  
Cass whirled around. “Oh, don’t you start!”  
They both jumped when a loud, assertive rapping came from the door.  
“What?!” Cass snapped.  
A man’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Oh, Viiiiiolet, are you in there?”  
Something about the voice made Cass’s lip curl and her brow furrow. An insincere sliminess oozed from it.  
Cass checked the small scabbard at her side. Yup. Knife was there.  
“Who’s asking?”  
“Oh, I’m a friend of hers.”  
“A ‘friend?’” Cass scoffed.  
“I have a message for her,” the man teased in a lilting sing-song voice.  
“Go away! She’s not here,” Cass replied. _Shit! Probably shouldn’t have admitted she lives here. Stupid, Cass!_  
“I… I don’t know who you’re talking about!” she hastily added.  
Oh, I think you do.” He chuckled, a sound that made her insides churn.  
“And what makes you think that?”  
“I have my ways,” he said dismissively. “Now be a dear and let me give you the message. It’s quite urgent.”  
“How so, exactly?”  
“Violet’s very life may depend on it!”  
Cass frowned at the floor. She paused and took a deep breath.  
Hand still on the knife, she cracked open the door. Her eyes glared a challenge to whoever lurked on the other side. _Don’t you fucking dare…_  
A tall, thickly muscled man with a toothy, smarmy smile looked down at her as if examining an exotic insect. She recognized his flashy velvet coat and gaudy broach at his throat as shabby imitations of the Baron’s ostentatious style.  
“Hello, young lady,” he greeted with faux politeness. “My name is Glen. Glen Smeeve.”  
He put out a hand for her to shake. Cass didn’t take it.  
“What’s your message?” snapped Cass.  
He looked over Cass’s shoulder. Then his eyes flicked to a nip mark peeking out from Cass’s shirt. “Are you SURE Violet’s not in, young lady?”  
Cass noticed his pointed stare. She bristled at his condescension.  
“What. Is. Your. Message?” she repeated through gritted teeth.  
The man sighed, a cross between impatient and amused.  
“My associates tell me Violet has been out drumming up business at the Axe Wound, amongst other places. As I’ve told her MANY times before, she works for me or she doesn’t work in this town at all…”  
Suddenly, Cass spied a teenage girl standing not far behind the man. She wore similar clothing to Violet. A bright, low cut top paired with a dark, fluffy skirt much shorter than most women wore. Alarmingly high shoes. Eye catching jewelry.  
The girl’s brown hair failed to curtain the fist-sized bruise on one side of her face that even thick makeup could not conceal. Cass noticed other, faded bruises along the girl’s arms, some clearly the indents of cruel fingers. The teenager’s large, dark eyes radiated a haunted, defeated spirit.  
Cass’s heart sank. She looked back at the man, rage written on her face.  
“Fuck off!” she snarled. “I’m armed. Don’t try anything!”  
Glen rolled his eyes. “Very well… Cassandra.”  
“And who says I’m her?”  
The man chuckled. “Oh, come on! You’re rather famous. Impressive work! Shame you couldn’t cut it as a criminal, though.”  
Cass simply glowered in response.  
“Well,” the man punctuated with clap. “I think I’ve made myself clear. Miss Violet already knows what happens to people who cross me…” He snapped his fingers. “Come along, Lavinia! We’re leaving now.”  
The teenager behind him froze. He turned around, his face contorted into a tight, evil smile.  
“Young lady…” he stated in a cold, threatening tone.  
“You can come with me!” Cass offered Lavinia, her voice turning gentle. “I can protect you.”  
Lavinia hesitated. “I… I…”  
Her shuddering voice was cut off by Glen roughly grabbing her arm as he swept her away, nearly dragging her off her unsteady feet altogether.  
Before Cass could say another word, the pair disappeared. Cass closed the door, aching head in her hands.  
“Damn it…” She scolded herself for not drawing her knife.  
She turned to Owl. “I’ll get him,” she promised. “I’ll fucking get him! I’ll help the sheriff mop the floor with this beast!”  
“Hoo!” responded a shaken Owl. 

… 

Cass found herself out in the rain yet again, blinking drops out of her eyes.  
Why did it feel lately like it started pouring almost every damn time she stepped outside? Did the gods themselves wish her maximum suffering?  
Cass knocked, then pounded on the door to the deep red caravan, sure Violet was still inside.  
“Vi… VI! We need to talk!” she shouted.  
“Shut up!” a resident of a nearby apartment yelled out their window.  
Cass held back her trembling fist. _Deep breaths, Cass… deep. BREATHS._  
She lowered her clenched fists to her sides. In spite of the heavy rain, she heard shuffling inside of the caravan. Light peeked out from under the door.  
“Damn it!” Cass pushed a soaked lock of hair out of her face. “I know you’re in there, Vi!”  
“Bitch, if you don’t shut up I’ll throw my chamber pot at you!” the same neighbor yelled.  
Cass wordlessly roared at the neighbor, who simply slammed their shutters closed with a huff.  
“Go away, Cass!” came a muffled grumble from Violet. Her voice sounded a little deep and strange, just like the other night when she had hidden herself beneath a blanket.  
“Violet, I SWEAR…”  
“One minute!” Vi snapped.  
Indeed, almost a literal full minute passed. For the short-haired woman stuck out in the rain, it stretched into an eternity.  
Cass rolled her eyes. Just as she made a move to walk away, the door cracked open ever so slightly.  
A bloodshot blue eye peered out at Cass. “What’s up?” said Violet.  
“What’s UP?” said Cass. “Well, firstly, I want to know what the hell we even ARE, and secondly, who the hell is Glen and why was he poking around the hotel room?”  
Violet slowly began to close the door.  
“No!” Cass stopped her with a hand on the door handle. She felt Violet pulling, surprisingly strong.  
“Violet, I’m coming in! I’m not standing out here in the cold another minute! And besides, you said this is ‘our caravan,’ right?”  
Without another word, Cass overpowered the insistent tugging. Her heavy boots tramped into comparatively warm caravan and…  
“Whoa!” The short haired woman’s eyes widened at the sight before her. “What happened here?”  
In the dim lantern light, Cass surveyed the destruction. She could tell Vi had tried to decorate and furnish the place. The deep red bedspread on the simple bed which was bolted to the floor was absolutely shredded, along with the goose feather pillows. Feathers littered the room like the carnage left after a fox invades a henhouse. A small chair lay broken in pieces nearby.  
Deep claw marks marred the walls in haphazard swipes. Cass recognized another copy of her wanted poster, tacked to the wall, also sported the intimidating marks.  
And another thing…  
“Vi, why are you naked?” asked Cass.  
The shorter woman stood nearby, nude except for her signature choker. Her clothes lay crumpled nearby. Cass noticed the corset strings were ripped open like a jagged, broken teeth.  
Violet’s body had a few scratches, and an enormous, jagged splinter in one bleeding hand. She picked at it, avoiding eye contact with Cass.  
“It’s… complicated.”  
“I’ll say!” snorted Cass. “Violet, WHAT is wrong?”  
Cass shifted towards Violet, who flinched and backed away.  
“Oh…” Cass’s face fell. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not going to hurt you. Promise.”  
Violet looked up. Tears smeared her eyeshadow into dark, haunting circles around her eyes.  
“Let me see your hand?” Cass asked, careful to keep her voice gentle.  
The two sat on the torn bed, a lantern placed near them providing light and some warmth. Cass took Violet’s hand and began to work on the splinter.  
“This man named Glen Smeeve showed up at the room,” Cass explained. “Who is he?”  
Violet scoffed. “Some knockoff pimp Baron impersonator! Lots of those that have come and gone since OUCH!” She flinched again.  
“Sorry!” Cass apologized. “Just… hold still, okay? I’ll get this splinter out.”  
Violet nodded before continuing. “Anyway, he’s been threatening me since he got here. That lowlife doesn’t like that I’m a free agent!”  
“And you haven’t told anyone?”  
“No. But yeah, this is why I’ve been working overtime. The more I cut into his business, the less power he has. And the less… the less those poor girls are…” Vi gave the floor a thousand-yard stare.  
“Um… holy shit…” replied Cass. Her stomach lurched. She knew what was up, but… to have someone actually sort of say it…  
“Yeah,” said Violet, her voice blank.  
“Okay, it’s out!” said Cass, gently removing the last of the splinter. She opened her blue pouch, where she’d stashed a fresh bandage from the apothecary. And it was soaked. Of course. She sighed put the bandage back.  
“Sorry,” Cass apologized.  
Violet shrugged, her mind still somewhere the other woman couldn’t follow. “Don’t be. It’s fine.”  
_I don’t think ANYTHING is fine here!_ Cass thought.  
“Anyway,” said the short-haired woman, clearing her throat. “Why haven’t you told anyone about this Glen character? Why don’t you tell Sheriff Quaid?”  
Violet stiffened. She jerked her head towards Cass. “Tell the LAW? Are you shitting me? You know what I do isn’t exactly legal, right?”  
Cass blinked in surprise. “It isn’t?” _Guess I just… assumed. Since she's about as subtle about it as a black rock sword to the face…_  
Violet rolled her eyes. “No, it isn’t! Tolerated in some parts of town, yes. Legal? No.”  
“Right…”  
“I am NOT going back to jail!” Violet protested. “Cages are NOT my kink, you know.”  
“I don’t want you to go to jail, Vi! It’s just...he had a girl with him. You can defend yourself. She....”  
“She can’t. THEY can’t. I know.”  
“THEY?”  
“Yeah, he’s a pimp. Did you think he had just one girl in his clutches?” Violet simmered with rage.  
“Fucking scum…” she growled under her breath.  
“Yes,” agreed Cass. She put an arm around Violet.  
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the lantern sputtered, threatening to go out.  
Relieved for the break in tension, Cass fumbled in her pocket for a match that wasn’t soaked.  
“No,” Vi said cryptically. “Let it go dark.”  
She took Cass's hand and drew her into a long kiss.  
“So, are you going to tell me why this room is wrecked?” Cass asked with a cocked eyebrow.  
“I… got it like this,” Vi answered. “Got a discount.”  
Cass glanced around the room. _Yeah, sure…_  
The lantern sputtered out, plunging the caravan into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... biggest gap between chapters so far.  
> Where the fuck have I been?  
> T R A U M A processing.  
> Thankfully, I'm finally feeling like writing again. Such a relief!  
> Chapters 14 and 15 are already partially done, so hopefully there won't be a two month gap between chapters again any time soon.  
> I look forward to sharing more with you!
> 
> -Glow_Decay


End file.
